


Whatever Happened to Joan's Crush on Davis

by moticiawddams



Category: Actor RPF, Actress rpf, Feud (TV 2017), Old Hollywood
Genre: 1930s, 1960s, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22313767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moticiawddams/pseuds/moticiawddams
Summary: In 1934, Joan couldn't keep herself from running after Davis at an MGM party. Now in 1961, as they are preparing to work together in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, some unresolved feelings may arise.
Relationships: Joan Crawford/Bette Davis
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	1. I send my best regards from hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [not joan crawford and bette davis](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=not+joan+crawford+and+bette+davis).



**Prologue**

_ Hollywood, 1934. _

She belonged there. Yes, after a few years of thinking less of herself, Bette Davis had finally put together a good amount of confidence and felt like a star. Of course she was no beauty queen, but who cares? She had talent and she worked hard everyday of her life. Yes, she made money and people actually watched her movies. And for that, Bette Davis was a star and everyone in that room had to agree. So she talked herself into leaving behind that feeling of not being pretty enough to be with all of those people. 

That night, when she entered the party Bette was just as big as anyone else there. So she decided to have the time of her life. She didn’t like champagne very much, but since it worked as effectively as any other alcoholic drink, she drank it. Talking to other stars was easy and luckily she found Hank to keep her company. They even danced a little. Dear Henry, she really adored him. But as the girl he brought to the party became jealous, she had to step away. 

Bette went to the balcony to light a cigarette and breathe a little. Gosh, parties and fancy people. She could have a little of that in small doses, and at the next day she would run to tell her mother all about it. They would laugh at everyone because they were all a little ridiculous and shallow. 

"Good evening, miss Davis.”

Bette shivered. That was a voice the entire America knew very well. She sensed a flirtatious tone in that whisper. Bette turned her head to take a look at the person properly. As she looked up she saw that infuriating pretty face. 

“How do you do, Miss Crawford?”

Joan was wearing a beautiful long silver dress, and her make-up was done flawlessly. Bette couldn't help but think that she just wanted to touch her face to see if all of that was real or just another MGM fabrication that just resembled a real-life person. For reasons unknown to Bette the woman irritated her tremendously. But again, she was having the time of her life, so there was no reason to be rude. Unless that woman really did something bad and by the look in her eyes it wasn't going to take long to happen. 

“I’m doing fine, darling. Would you mind sharing that?” Crawford pointed smoothly to the cigarette between Bette’s lips. “I forgot my pack inside.” She added.

It was so typical of Crawford to be that forward, Bette immediately thought. She saw how she behaved with the other stars and there was always a façade going on. She couldn’t quite figure her out underneath all that apparent niceness.

Bette could not formulate an answer for a few seconds. She handed her pack of cigarettes. “Sure, suit yourself.” 

“Thank you dear.” Crawford picked two cigarettes and smiled. “Two so I won’t forget to repay you. Unless, of course, you accept another kind of repayment.” 

“Such as?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, you name it. You’re the one who lent the cigarettes.”

“Miss Crawford, are you getting anywhere with this? You can keep the cigarettes, I don’t mind.” 

“Oh, you know my name! The whole world does, but please do call me Joan, dear.” 

“Sure they do." Said Bette letting her discontent show more than she intended to. "It’s getting chilly, I’ll go back inside.” 

“I’ll be right behind you, Miss Davis.”

Bette re-entered the party, thinking how arrogant that Crawford woman was, she couldn’t believe her! After that encounter she needed another glass of champagne. She saw one of her old co-stars getting a drink too and mingled right away. A little time passed and she was having a good time once again, that’s what she was here for. George Cukor happened to be a really good dancer and she wasn’t, but she couldn't care more. The man was truly fun to be around. After they danced three songs in a roll Olivia De Havilland approached Bette.

“Bette dear, would you join me in the ladies room?” De Havilland asked. Cukor excused himself and went to de bar. 

“Sure, Livvie!” 

They walked arm in arm, almost hitting a waiter on their way to the restroom.They sure had too much to drink at that point of the night.

As they entered, Livvie thanked the good lord the ladies room was empty.  She began to retouch her lipstick as she took a good look at Bette through the mirror.

“You look happy tonight, darling. Did anything exciting happen?”

Bette’s smile faded a little, Olivia’s question seemed somehow suspicious to her.

“Well, drinking and dancing with homosexual men seem exciting enough I would guess.”

“Yes, yes, dear. I didn’t mean to intrude, you know that.”

“Livvie, just tell what’s the matter.”

“Alright, dear Bette. It’s nothing really, I just heard that you and Crawford had something going on. A little chat I mean.”

Bette was infuriated and couldn’t keep her face from frowning at the thought of people gossiping about her and… that Crawford.

“Yeah, we talked, what about it? And from whom did you hear that?”

“The woman herself. She seemed pretty interested in you, dear, that’s why I’m asking.” 

“Interested how?” 

“Well, you know.”

“In a friendly way?” Bette inquired.

“In a bitchy way.”

“Well, I despise her. You just had to hear the way she talked about herself, she thinks she’s the center of the whole goddamn world.”

“I never thought of myself as the sun, only as a star.” Joan Crawford left one of the cabins. 

Bette rolled her eyes. “And Miss Havilland gave you the wrong information, I wasn’t bitchy about you.” 

“If you will excuse me.” Livvie said, grabbing her purse and leaving the ladies room. 

“Olivia!” Bette shouted and watched her go. She looked at Crawford. “Listen, I’m not in my clear mind right now, so I hope you’re not offended by this conversation.”

“Oh, but I sure am! You and your little friend were really rude and bitter while talking about me. The least you could do is apologize.”

“For calling you arrogant? Ha! Not apologizing for the truth.” 

“Who is being arrogant now? Oh, miss Davis and I thought we could get along somehow.” 

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I think we’re very opposite women and our combination may not be compatible.” 

“I’m not exactly looking for compatibility, my darling.” 

“Miss Crawford, do I get the right impression? Are you having any kind of second intentions with me?” 

“I thought you’d never bite! I expected that the most talented girl in America would be a little bit faster.” 

“Listen Crawford, I’m not into… whatever you call it.” 

“Then give me the pleasure to get you started.” 

Bette expected to be kissed on the lips, but it didn’t happen. No, Crawford knew better. She touched the younger actress’ hips and brought her closer. Her lips kissed the exposed skin of Bette’s neck very lightly. Bette felt something she didn’t quite understand and a second later Joan stepped away. Smiling in the most vicious way she could as she watched that cute blonde girl come undone with barely a kiss on the neck. 

“Enjoy the party Miss Davis, it might be only getting started.” Joan said and left the room without looking back. 

Bette felt the urge to take a shower. Jesus, what a dreadful woman. 

-

> _Hollywood, 1961_

No way to run now. At least it was only for a month, and that was the exact time limit she would be willing to spend around Crawford, at least for the money she was getting. Joan was so very polite and beautiful. They acted like friends, a little bit for the press, and the rest because it seemed senseless not to. Maybe that was peace. When Joan pushed her a little closer for a picture Bette did not even complain. It could work, yes. 

After all the endless sessions with the photographers, and all the uncalled-for pepsi cola advertisement, Joan pushed Bette to the side of the room to talk to her more privately. She seemed strangely sincere. Maybe she’s changed, Bette thought.

“Bette, I truly hope that this picture gives me the chance of making you a friend of mine.” 

Bette smiled. “That’s on you, Crawford. Will you behave?” 

“I’ll do everything on my power to make this picture a success, including dealing patiently with your bitterness towards me.” 

“Including not making me promote that pepsi cola of yours?.”

“Well, it’s not your obligation to. Sure I’ll respect that.” 

“Good, then we will get along just fine, Lucille.” 

“How on earth do you know my real name?” Joan asked. 

“Oh, well you know how things spread in Hollywood. Your name is no government secret.” 

Baby Jane’s producer touched Bette’s arm. “Ladies, shall we sign the contracts?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.” Said Davis.

“I would appreciate if you never called me that name again.” 

“Oh but it’s such a beautiful name. French isn’t it?” Bette sat on the chair to finally sign the contract. She noticed Joan didn’t use a chair, instead, she was standing right behind her, her arms on the back of Bette’s chair.

“So it is, yet I don’t want you to call me that. Just call me Joan.” Joan smiled beautifully with her face turned a little so the cameras would capture her on her best angle. She bent over slightly getting closer to Bette as they signed the contract so the press would buy the whole “friends” story. Bette looked up and saw Crawford smiling in all her glory. She remembered a simple phrase said ages ago by the one and only Joan Crawford. Not in one of her pictures, but in a restroom at an MGM luxurious party. “Then give me the pleasure to get you started.”

Jesus, how long since she last thought of this phrase.

Suddenly it felt like the whole room was full with Joan Crawford, just like that goddamn toilet felt at that party. 


	2. You don't love me, not a big deal. I'll never tell you how I feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davis and Crawford begin working on Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? After the first day of set Joan invites Bette for drinks.

“Is she late?” Bette asked as she entered the first day on set with a superior glance as she looked around. 

“No, she arrived an hour earlier.” Bob answered. “Said she wanted to make sure everything would be perfect today.” 

Bette rolled her eyes. Sure, Joan arrived earlier just to make Bette seem like the less professional of the pair. Whatever. As soon as Joan begins to complain about her looks and angles the crew would see who was more interested in the project.

“Good morning, dear Bette.” Joan said leaving her dressing room. “See you arrived just in time.” 

“Yeah, I never let the crew waiting.” 

“Like the  _ pro _ actress you are.” 

“Well, so are you.” Bette gave her a fake smile and walked away. 

“Thank you, darling!” Joan said with a smile. 

Davis slammed the door of her dressing room. God, only to be around that woman was enough to make her blood boil. Everything she did was so irritating and artificial. Screw her! Bette had to focus. This part was big, she could put her career back on track.

She put that goddamn blonde wig on and some thick white foundation. That was it. “Thank you, Daddy.” Said Bette to the mirror, bowing down as to thank an audience. Baby Jane had just been born. 

Crawford’s face was just priceless when she saw Bette’s make up. _ How could someone be so careless about their looks _ , she thought perplexed. 

“What do you think, dear Joan?” Bette asked with a sly smile on her face. 

“You definitely are in character.” Joan said, it was almost impossible to tell if that was a compliment or a criticism.

Bette laughed satisfied. 

The first day on set had that special excitement of bringing to life something that could make an impact. Nobody was worn out yet. The two co-stars acted cordially with one another. Joan found the sweetness in her character Blanche right away and Bette, to balance things out, couldn’t be more appalling. They wanted to make this work, to make that movie a hit and smash their success on every studio owner’s face. 

Bette was removing the makeup in her dressing room when she heard a little knock on the door.

“Come in!” She yelled in that unmistakable voice of hers.

“Bette, I just came to show my gratitude.” Joan entered the room with a small box.

How typical it was of her to try to buy people off with gifts, Bette thought. Joan handed the present with a big smile, analyzing Bette’s reactions carefully.

Davis began to unwrap the gift box impatiently. Inside it there was a silver cigarette case with the initials B.D. carved in gold.  _ Classy _ . Bette thought to herself. Inside the case there were two cigarettes and nothing else.  _ What kind of gift was that? _ Bette knew she was an exceptional smoker but only two? Crawford had to be trying to pull something on her.

“So what’s the joke, Joanie?” Bette was confused but too impatient to actually care.

“It’s my repayment to you, dear. For that party a few decades ago, I’m sure you don’t remember but I always keep my promises.”

Oh no, they were  _ not _ talking about that night. Bette would not bear that. She would rather pretend it never happened.

“You’re right, I don’t remember. But thanks for the case.” 

“It’s my pleasure, dear. I also came here to invite you for drinks, Bob and I were just talking about it outside my dressing room. He’s very excited to have both his stars out with him tonight to celebrate.” Joan said proudly.

Bette was not delighted to spend some extra hours with Crawford, that she wasn’t. But Robert Aldrich was a fine man, she really respected and liked him. She would be willing to make that sacrifice.  _ It’s just one month around these people _ , she kept reminding herself.

**

Bette entered the restaurant out of breath, the place had some fancy french name she didn’t know how to pronounce. It was a place Hollywood people liked to go to feel chic, Crawford must have picked it. The waiter accompanied her to Aldrich and Crawford’s table, she wasn’t used to being late.

“Sorry Crawfish, I got stuck in traffic. Where’s Bob?”

“Well, hello to you too. Dear Bob just called saying he was going to be late.”

Joan’s maid, Mamacita, was sitting beside her. Joan turned to her and whispered. “Mamacita, you can go now. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, Miss Joan.” Mamacita turned to Bette rapidly. “Excuse me, Miss Davis.” She grabbed her purse and left.

Bette sat down and lighted a cigarette. A waiter came to the table and they ordered two margaritas. 

“Great day, huh?” Bette tried to engage in a conversation. She hates small talk, but that awkward silence was way worst. 

“I see you liked my gift.” Joan said looking at the cigarette case Bette was holding. 

“It’s a charming present. A bit too much I’d say, but I appreciate it.” 

Joan left out a light laugh. “Will you ever quit being so uneasy with me?” 

“You know I have my reasons. Both of us are well aware of all that crap about Franchot.” 

“Oh, please, it was years ago.” 

“I don’t care! It hurt and you were the one to blame!”

“You’re wrong, dear. I have no blame if Franchot picked me to be his lady.” 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! His lady? You stole him from me, lurked him into your sick games.” 

“Really, Bette, It does you no good to be so bitter over the past. Please, for the sake of this movie we’re making, let’s forget old wounds.” 

“Honestly, Lucille, I don’t know why I agreed to come. The only time we make it work is during a scene. In real life we better keep a distance. Where the hell is Bob?” 

Joan closed her eyes and looked down.  _ Goddamnit. She had to make everything so difficult _ .  _ Even after a clearly expensive gift she wouldn’t give in, what an ungrateful woman. _

“He’s not coming, is he? Ha! Oh, Joan, you make me sick.” 

The margaritas arrived. Before Joan could even think, Bette took both glasses in her hands. 

“How very polite.” Said Joan firmly.

“F… That’s so I won’t jump on your throat.” 

Joan turned to the waiter throwing her charms at him “Could you bring another one for me, dear Fred, my friend is a little greedy tonight.” 

“It’s already on the way, Miss Crawford.”

Joan turned to Bette again and spoke with the most soft-spoken tone of voice she was capable of doing. “Please Bette, we are already here, let’s enjoy the night. I’m well aware you don’t like me, but at least for tonight we could chat like old friends.”

“How can we chat like old friends if we are not friends? Aren’t you missing the point, Joanie?”

“Well, we do share some memories from the past, don’t we? Doesn’t that make us old friends?”

“If you say so. But I don’t enjoy discussing the past.” 

“How pitiful! We did have our charming moments. You seemed to hate me just as much as you do now, dear, but your body language showed me otherwise.” Joan Smirked.

“That’s it! I’m leaving. Goodbye.” Bette took some cash out of her purse and threw it on the table almost hitting Crawford. “I can’t believe I bought all that lie about Bob.” Bette spoke to herself a little too loud. She turned her back to Joan and marched to the door, as she was leaving she realized she forgot the cigarette case.  _ Well, Crawfish can keep it!  _

** 

The next day Bette arrived in a really bad mood. She could punch someone in the face. To avoid any human contact she went straight to her dressing room. Bette slammed the door and took off her clothes. That day would be about work  _ only _ . As she sat on her vanity chair and looked for the makeup, she found the silver cigarette case and a note above it. She took the envelope in her hands and almost ripped it while opening. 

_ “Dear Bette,  _

_ I’m sorry for my unpleasant behavior last night. I hope you forgive me and give me another chance to be your friend. Let me know when you need a company for a few drinks, I’m sure I can be handy.  _

_ Your old friend, J.C.”  _

Oh, dear God, this woman will drive her crazy before the month is over. She stormed off her dressing room and grabbed Joan by the arm. Dragging Crawford away from the person she was speaking to and entering Davis' dressing room. Bette pointed a finger to her face. 

“Look, you may try to fool me, but I’m not falling into it. I’m not an idiotic man who’d love to fall in your bed, so give up! Let me do my work and concentrate on doing yours.” 

Joan smiled. “Darling, are you still mad about yesterday? Have you found my note?” 

“Yes I found it and I don’t give a damn about that friendship crap! I don’t want to be any close to you, do you understand?” 

“How sad. Just now that I have decided to be the nicest person you could have around.” 

“You will have to be born again to become a decent person, who’d say nice!” 

The dressing room door was left slightly open, so Aldrich came in interrupting the conversation.

“What is this, ladies, are you arguing now? We are ready to shoot the crying scene with you Bette.”

“We aren’t really arguing, Bob. I was just telling Bette how much I’d enjoy her friendship.” 

Bob smiled nervously. “I’m glad you’re working things out.”

Davis took a look at herself in the mirror and walked out of her dressing room, passing Crawford on the way. 

“You leave the door open when you leave.” She paused. “And stop with the notes.”

“No more notes, I promise.” Joan grinned.  _ I just can’t promise about other things.  _

Joan Crawford walked out of the room with an obstinate look on her face. After Bette’s rudeness that morning she was going to make any efforts to get Bette Davis to like her.  _ Bette Davis would come crawling into her bed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be a little more exciting. We hope you, the courageous people who dared to read this, are enjoying this fanfic so far.


	3. Fed up with the fantasies that cover what is wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hedda invites Joan and Bette for an interview.

As usual, Joan Crawford woke up two hours earlier than she was supposed to so she could have enough time to do her beauty routine and get ready for the day ahead. Mamacita brought her breakfast in bed, in the trail there was also a letter. Oh, from dear Hedda! Joan thought What does that old bitch want now? She opened it to realize it was an invitation for a dinner engagement. An invitation addressed to her and Bette Davis. Joan got worried for a second, but then she relaxed, there was nothing to be worried about. Hedda probably wanted some exciting gossip about the set of Whatever Happened Baby Jane. But she wasn’t going to get any. Bette could hate her to the day she died, but she sure wasn’t going to ruin that picture.

She dialed Hedda Hopper’s home address, which she knew from their previous encounters from the past.

“Good morning, Dearest. I do accept your invitation.” Said Joan, ever so sweet.

  
**

  
“What? You accepted a dinner invitation on my name?” Bette got immediately mad.

“Oh, what could I do? And besides, this could mean good publicity. The reporters weren’t buying our little friendship. I think we should do it for the sake of this picture, to set the record straight.”

Bette, who was mad a minute ago, thought for a second about the possibility of stopping with the rumors on their hatred for each other. She kept being asked about it and as much as she didn’t particularly like Joan Crawford, she didn’t want to be linked to the woman, neither through a feud nor through anything else.

“Alright. I hate to say that you are right this time. But this is the last time I’m talking to a reporter.”

“That’s perfectly fine. And dear… I think we should arrive together. It would give the right impression. I could pick you up.”

“No, I’ll pick you up, Crawfish. Be ready by seven, I don’t like to wait. And I’m leaving right after dinner.” Bette wouldn’t depend on Joan for anything, not even for a ride.

“It’s settled then.”

Bette moved on to study her scenes with Jane Hudson’s romantic interest, Victor. They had their differences at first, but now they were hitting off just fine. Oh, who she was kidding? Their differences only came from Bette’s side. He didn’t quite look like a leading man and the fact that he was gay threw her a little off guard. But that didn’t last. After some nights rehearsing together, she felt like he was someone she could really put her trust on.

“Maybe we could do the song now, Bette. It’s been awhile since we did this bit.”

“Can we just go over our lines? I’m truly not in the mood to sing today.” Bette was a little distracted this morning on set.

“Well, absolutely, as you wish.” Victor paused to analyze Bette. “Darling I’m sorry to ask, but are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She wasn’t going to say anything, but Victor was looking at her like someone who cared, and he wasn’t going to spread any gossip around. That was good. “Well, I have an interview with Crawford today. Commanded by the one and only queen of the snakes Hedda Hopper, so that makes it two snakes. Ha!”  
Victor laughed at the remark.

“What’s making you unsettled, besides the obvious?”

“Oh, Victor... I’m just worried this might be my last break. It’s hard enough when you are an older actress, good parts begin to simply dry up. The press isn’t helping at all making my relationship with Lucille seem personal when it should be strictly professional. I can’t stand her, but I know she’s in the same boat as me. Old broads, as they say, have no space in this town.”

“I get that, but you two are great in this picture. Specially you, Bette. Maybe the publicity can help you instead of harm you.”

“We’ll see, Victor.”

**

Davis arrived at seven, just like she said she would. For her content Crawford was ready on time, her hair perfectly done and wearing a dress so beautifully elegant it could only belong to her. If she put on so much effort for Hedda, Bette couldn’t imagine what she looked like going out on a date.

“Oh, my darlings, I see you two arrived together!” Hedda Hopper said, smiling like a cobra ready to make her next victim.

“Yes, Bette was so very dear to give me a lift.”

“How sweet of you, Miss Davis.” The woman uttered and rapidly hugged Bette. “So, I heard you two are getting along very well. How much of that is true?”

“On or off the record?” Crawford asked, trying to instigate Hedda.

Hopper looked excited.

“All of it. Me and my wonderful co-worker are getting along just fine.”

Joan got closer to Bette, tangling her arm around hers. Bette tried not to show any strong emotions right there, even if all she wanted to do was scream at Crawford and demand some personal space.

“Like the two civilized ladies we are.” Bette completed.

“Sure!” Hedda wasn’t buying that act. “So, who gets top billing?” She questioned, expecting to rise some tension between the stars.

“Bette. She’s has the title role, it’s only fair.” Joan answered calmly.

“Doesn’t it bother you, Joan?”

“Of course not. I was the one who brought Baby Jane to Robert Aldrich’s attention, I told him it was for Bette and me. I knew she would be perfect for this part, and I was right.”

Bette stayed quiet as much as she could, she decided to rely on Joan’s ability to deal with Hedda. They were clearly quite close.

“In the past did you ever dream of working with Joan Crawford, Bette?” Hedda asked, trying one more time to break through the forged friendly atmosphere.

“Not really. It never crossed my mind, but I think it is happening at the right time.”

“Oh, but I wish we had worked together before. I think Bette is a fascinating actress.” Joan responded.

“That’s a nice compliment, Joan. Now Bette, what do you think of Miss Crawford?”

“She has done an incredible work in some of her pictures. A real professional and a fine actress.” Said Bette, sincerely.

Hedda smiled at them, pretending to enjoy their answers just as much as they pretended to like each other.

**

Dinner was a success! Neither of them fell into Hedda’s little tricks. Davis noticed Crawford’s looks towards her, some of them indicating a level of intimacy and mutual understanding. She followed her along, glancing at her in the same way. They were actresses for god’s sake, sure they could fool that dreadful creature. And so, they did. Hedda had nothing but a bunch of respectable quotations between the co-stars and stories of how peaceful and pleasant the set of Baby Jane was.

Bette and Joan left Hedda’s house arm in arm. Their laughter could be heard from the other side of the street. They did it. What a great moment, to see that woman so disappointed!

“Oh, God I’m dying for a big glass of scotch. Being around Hedda gives me headaches.” Bette expressed as they entered the car.

“Well, I always keep good whisky at home. I’d be happy to have you over, in case you’re interested, of course.”

“And why would I be?”

“Because, well, we did good today, Bette. Ruining Hedda’s next scandal calls for a celebration, don’t you agree?”

Bette chuckled.

“I see what you’re doing.”

“I’m simply inviting a friend over for drinks. I don’t bite, you don’t have to be afraid.”

“Afraid of you, Lucille? Never.”

“So, will you join me?” Joan waited for a response with eyes full of hope.

“You caught me on a good day.”

“I’m glad I did. Your presence will be much appreciated in my simple home.”

**

“You put everything under plastic! Why am I not surprised?” Said Bette as she arrived in Crawford’s living room, making a remark about Joan’s furniture that was entirely covered in plastic. Bette took a good look at the room. It was impeccably clean and organized.

“Where’s that Mama woman who’s always with you?”

“Oh, you mean Mamacita? This is her night off. I’ll have to serve you tonight if you don’t mind.”

“I’m still waiting on that glass of scotch.”

“I’ll fix you right away.” Joan crossed the room to reach for the minibar.

“Is this for sitting?” Bette pointed to the couch.

“It sure is, my dear. Feel right at home.”

Bette sat and looked around her. “Sure.” She answered ironically.

The house was enormous, and everything felt exaggerated. Bette hated it. There was a huge portrait of Joan above the fireplace. What a showoff. Everything there seemed just for shows, even if there was barely anything left. Crawford was clearly struggling financially, although she would never admit it. Bette could relate to that. But only to that.

A slow song started. Joan had put some record on. Bette stared her way.

“There it is.” Joan moved through the room to sit right beside Bette on the couch. A little too close. Bette moved a few inches apart in response.

Joan laughed.

“You’re still afraid. You can’t handle surprises, can you? I remember that day at the restroom when I kissed your neck… Oh dear.”

“I don’t want to talk about that day.”

“Dance with me, then. Let’s leave the chat for later.”

“I better go.” Said Davis, taking a big sip of whisky before getting off the couch.

“Oh, no, no dear! Stay a little longer.” Crawford got up reaching for Bette’s wrist. “You don’t need to hurry.”

“Joan, you won’t be able to seduce me.” Bette impatiently affirmed.

“Can I take this as a challenge?”

Bette looked down noticing Joan’s hands were still on her wrist. “Take it as you want, just let me go.”

“Would it be so bad for you to dance with me? Just a song.”

“Dear god, Joan. What has gotten into you?”

“I’ve got my eyes on you for a good amount of years, you must know that.”

“Your eyes are all over town.”

“Not right now, darling.” Crawford spoke honestly.

“Stop these foolish games.” At this point Bette wasn’t being her loud usual self.

Joan took off her shoes and sweetly smiled. “When I was a dancer I felt like I could have any man I wanted.” She closed her eyes for a second, feeling the song but also remembering the past.

“Men usually desire you right after the first glance. But ladies…” Joan started to dance slowly around Bette, now facing the back of her co-star’s head.

“Ladies take more effort, but there is a special atmosphere when a woman is touching you. A need of not only taking, but also giving.” Joan softly chuckled and rubbed her nose in Bette’s hair. “Have you ever done it with a lady?”

“No.” Bette answered, her body betraying her. She could feel Joan’s body brushing softly against her back

“It can be magical.”

Davis let out a frustrated sigh. “You’re trying really hard, aren’t you?” That hell of a woman had Bette exactly where she wanted. If only Joan stopped that nonsense and let her go. And god, why was it so damn hard to just leave that goddamn house?

“Like I said, ladies take more effort.” Joan didn’t touch her once, only the closeness of their bodies had an impact on both of them.

“Joan, cut the crap...”

Crawford gave Davis a kiss on the shoulder. That was it. Bette turned around to face her, ready to confront the woman. The intensity of her stare kept Bette from doing or saying anything. God, how long since she received such a look.

“What do you really want out of this, Crawford?”

“Isn’t it obvious, darling?”

“You’re doing this only to entertain yourself, then.”

“Oh, Bette what’s life without some moments of fun and pleasure? But I hope to entertain you as well” Joan got closer, as if reaching in for a kiss. “Give it a try, darling.” She whispered and went on to give soft kisses on Bette’s closed lips. It was too much to handle. Bette had no idea how to respond to that, or what to do. It must be so different to do it with a woman, she thought, inclined to the possibility of giving in. Joan was smoothly holding her waist, using her thumbs to give small caresses. A sudden wave of desire took control over her. Davis parted her lips, allowing Joan to fully kiss her. It was slow and hot, just as Bette expected it to be. It seemed to last hours. Her mind simply went blank, she could only feel her body react so strongly to Joan Crawford’s kisses, and touches. Bette gave in.

Joan moved to sit on the couch, bringing Bette with her. She gently pushed Davis, trying to lay her down.

“Take me upstairs. I won’t let you fuck me in the couch. I’m not that cheap.” Bette said forcing herself up.

Joan left out a soft laugh. “Oh, I never thought you were.” And leaded her upstairs to her suite.

Bette’s skin burned under Joan’s hands, and, oh, how much pleasure she had out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bette and joan sitting on a tree...  
> Stay tuned guys, next chapter will be out next friday. This fic is going to end on chapter 8, we finished everything recently and we swear it only gets better with time. Oh, the sapphic love/hate drama.  
> Let us know what you think of the chapter <3


	4. I never fall asleep when you're in my bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bette wakes up in Crawford's bed, not knowing how to deal with what has happened.

At first Bette had no idea of where she was. Waking up in a strange room didn’t sound much like her. The alarm rang and she felt a body moving next to her. She turned around in bed just to find Joan Crawford by her side, beautifully sleeping, of course! Because she wasn’t capable of doing one single thing without looking appealing. 

She heard someone opening the door, it was Mamacita. _ Damn it! _ Bette pretended she was asleep, pulling the covers to her face discreetly so Mamacita wouldn’t recognize her. God how did she end up in that situation? 

“Good morning, Miss Crawford.” Mamacita said after the curtains were drawn opened. 

“Good morning, Mamacita.” Joan said, making sure her naked body was properly hidden under the covers. 

The maid turned around to face the bed, she noticed there was someone lying next to Miss Crawford.

“I didn’t know you had company, miss Joan.”

“I’m sorry Mamacita, I too wasn’t expecting company. Otherwise I would have let you know so you could arrange a proper breakfast.” Joan got closer to Bette, gently removing the covers to take a peek at her. “Good morning, Bette, darling!”

_ Damn it! _

“Will Miss Davis have breakfast in bed with you, Miss Joan?” 

Bette’s head appeared between the mountain of covers.

“No, thank you, Mama…” Bette responded aggressively. She noticed her clothes were everywhere. She hoped that Crawford’s babysitter would rapidly leave the room so she could get dressed. 

“But why? It’s early, you can eat and go home.” 

“I better not. Mamawhatever would you be kind and excuse yourself for a minute so I can get dressed?” 

“Sure, Miss Davis.” Mamacita closed the door behind her. Bette was infuriated. She pulled the covers and wrapped herself with it as she got up and started picking her clothes off the floor.

“Why are you in a rush, dear?”

“I don’t want to disturb your beauty routine.” She said ironically.

Bette had gathered all her clothes and started getting dressed. As she finished buttoning her blouse she turned to face Joan, who was completely naked lying on the bed.  _ Oh shit, the covers.  _ She threw it at Crawford. 

“I’m leaving now. Thank you for whatever and never mention it again. Goodbye.”

Joan is left behind feeling victorious. She finally broke through some of Bette Davis’ barriers, she pleased her alright, even if it was just in bed. She remembered how relaxed Bette was right before she fell asleep. She wasn’t her hard usual self, no, she was looking at her with almost softness in her eyes. _ Maybe it is the beginning of a peaceful and kind bond between us. _ Crawford thought, before getting up and starting her day.

**

Davis got home and immediately showered. Gosh, she needed to wash off Crawford from her skin. She found some nail scratches on her chest and  _ damn it the day that woman was born! _ She felt so ashamed from letting Crawford seduce her, and even more ashamed for waking up in her bed this morning.  _ How humiliating!  _ The worst of all is that she felt  _ things _ she thought she could never feel with a woman. Let alone Crawford. She had to focus on her work now, last night was supposed to be all about making the picture work. Now the press issue was resolved, and Crawford got what she wanted: another co-worker on her list of achievements. Maybe now she would leave Bette alone.

**

Bette got to the set early.

Thank god Victor was there. She grabbed him by the arm and took him away from the crew.

“Look Victor, I need to talk to someone who would understand.”

“Why, Bette, did something happen? Are you fine, honey?”

_ No, I’m not fine. I SLEPT WITH CRAWFORD!  _ Bette thought.

“I was going through my scenes and they are all with Crawfish. Of all days, I don’t think I could tolerate her today, Victor.”

“Was dinner that bad last night? What did she tell Hedda?”

“Oh, it was terrible. Not the dinner I mean, Crawford in general.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?”

“This is not the place. Maybe you can come over to my house today. We can rehearse and I’ll tell you all about it.” Bette knew they weren’t going to rehearse.

“Okay, I’ll come over alright.”

**

Bette was completely in character when Joan arrived at the set. She rolled her eyes as she watched Crawford greet every crew member; she decided to hide in her dressing room to avoid the fake niceties.

_ Well, that’s it. I’ll torture Blanche with a dead rat in this scene. It’ll be good to see Crawfish suffer.  _

It was just terrible to see Crawford glowing. The woman was extra that morning, with everything in place as always, but with a special something on her. A confidence Bette heard about in the early years of Crawford’s career. She walked through the set like she owned it. 

Bette was fulminating. Crawfish used her to get her guts back. Oh, what a bastard she was! But she was determined to not let her have it. Today Bette was going to eat Crawford’s presence during their scenes. The set? Crawfish could have it, but the scenes were hers. 

**

“Let’s do this one again, folks.” Yelled Bob to Crawford and Davis and the rest of the crew. “What’s the matter with you two today?”

“Why are you asking that? I think the scenes are going just fine!” Bette said bitterly. 

“Yes, but I’m getting a lot of anger from you. I don’t know what’s going on, but you better bring it down just a few notches!” 

“How silly you are, dear Bob. Bette is a professional actress, she’s capable of leaving personal issues outside the set.” Joan interfered. 

Bob let out a defeated breath. It was their movie, clearly, not his. He could control the crew but not the stars. 

“Fine, go your marks. I’m tired and we need to get this scene right.” 

Everything was perfect this time. Bette was still a bit too angry, but her deliveries were genius. And Joan was just as good playing Bette’s little victim.

“Cut. Ready to print! Let’s take a break now.”

Davis had spent the entire day avoiding Crawford. Apart from their scenes together she didn’t even look her in the eyes. Bette was ready to go back to her dressing room when Joan caught her.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day. Have I done something wrong last night?” 

Bette looked at both sides angrily to see if somebody was watching them.

“Why are you asking me about this subject  _ here _ ? Weren’t it you who just told Bob that we’re capable of leaving personal matters aside?” 

“Well, we are on a break, I thought we could chat.” 

“No, we can’t because I don’t want to. I know where this conversation leads and I’m not falling for it again.” 

Joan put on a hurt face that Davis could not tell if it was an act or not. But knowing the character it most probably was.

“Oh, if you don’t like me, then I will just leave. I should stop trusting people who only want to crawl into my bed once and for all.”

Bette pushed Joan to a quieter corner and came closer to her, so no one listen to them.

“Listen here, you dishonest…” Davis angrily sighed. “You were the one who arranged last night’s events. You know very well that you’re the one to blame. I’m not even into…” Bette moved her hands. “This!”

“I could swear you were into it last night!” 

“It was a natural response. My body isn’t cold.” 

“Alright, dear. Tell yourself whatever you want. I’m leaving since I clearly can’t seem to please you.” 

Davis almost felt bad. But she didn’t care enough to be worried about Joan’s feelings. If it meant her peace of mind, Joan could cry herself to sleep every night. 

Joan Crawford entered her dressing room, leaving her confidence outside the door. She didn’t know if she was mad or hurt, maybe both. She was clearly a fool to believe that Bette would come to appreciate her after last night’s events. But enough of being a fool. Especially to  _ that woman _ , she didn’t deserve any of her efforts.

**

“Oh, thank god, Victor!” Bette hugged him as he was standing at her doorstep. 

“Oh!” He hugged her back. She invited him inside. 

“Do you want a drink?” She asked pointing to the minibar. Victor noticed an opened bottle of vodka with a glass half filled. Bette must be in big trouble.

“Sure, I’ll have whisky on the rocks.” 

“My favorite! I’ll fix it for ya.” 

“Thank you, darling.” He said taking the glass she was offering. “Are you alright? You seem a little different.” 

“Victor how did you discover your… taste for the same gender?” 

He laughed, beginning to understand her panic. 

“Well, I was always an unusual boy. I guess it just naturally hit me.” He looked at her sympathetically. “Is there a special woman who caught your eye?” 

“God, no! Not special!” She almost yelled. “I… I’m just curious. Is all.” 

“I see. Curiosity can sometimes grow into interest. You can ask me whatever you want, dear.” 

“I… It’s nothing really. I just noticed a friend may have an interest on me, in a romantic way, and I don’t know how to act. 

“Well, act naturally, darling. It’s not something to be worried about, think of it as if it were a male friend who is in love with you. What would you do?” 

“Shatter his heart.” 

“Well, then be kinder to her because she must be struggling with this feeling.” 

“What if I tell that I slept with her.” Bette got it out of her system in a rampant.

Victor was shocked but he didn’t let it show in respect to Bette’s clear breakdown.

“Honestly dear, I’d say you’re interested in her too. But who am I to tell you how  _ you _ feel?”

“ALRIGHT. IT WAS CRAWFORD!” Bette violently put her glass on the table. God knows how it didn’t break.

Victor’s mouth hanged opened without a reaction. He just made a noise, not knowing what to say or how to make sense out of that information.

“Oh, Bette.”

“She seduced me!”

“Well, did you enjoy it?”

“... I didn’t enjoy that it was with her. You had to see her house, Victor, it’s all covered in plastic! And the way she keeps hundreds of pictures of her face around the house, what a narcissist! Oh, but I could talk for hours about everything that is wrong with her.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me…”

“What do you mean by that? I don’t like her. You know me and I could NEVER.” Bette was talking so loudly Victor served her another glass of vodka hoping she would calm down.

“You didn’t enjoy that it was with her… But did you enjoy it in general?”

She thought about it.

“Well, sex is sex.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, darling.”

Bette started hiding her face with her hands. This is the most humiliating day of her life, between waking up in Crawford’s bed with Mama forcing that goddamn breakfast down her throat and having Victor listen to the fact that she  _ liked  _ what has happened.  _ Maybe unemployment felt better than this _ . Bette thought to herself. This picture was a mistake from the start and there’s still two weeks to finish the goddamn thing.

Bette took a gulp out of the vodka and spoke more clearly.

“Well, just because I enjoyed the s... whatever happened. It doesn’t mean that I want to repeat the doses. I have enough of the woman at work and she drives me insane. You’re there, you know it!”

“Alright, but if you think she’s romantically interested in you try not to hurt her. I’ve been there.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. The woman never had a real feeling in her entire life, she is all manipulation and no heart.”

“She’s still a human being.”

“Don’t know about that. I want to focus on the work, Victor, and she’s been haunting me for weeks. I’m not made of steel. Especially when I’m drunk and stressed and she’s right there kissing my goddamn neck!”

“That’s a pretty picture.” Victor smiled at Davis’ oversharing.

“You shut up!”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I’ll avoid her til the day she dies. And then I’ll celebrate when she does.”

Victor chucked thinking of how the press portrayed their feud.  _ If only they knew _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back with the drama! We'll post a new chapter every Friday and the next chapters will be way longer as we're approaching the ending. We also made a playlist for this fanfiction: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1NKoDPQe0f2hXvSc5RYnIr?si=9ISUt1XRRZO-cx3IAzpywg
> 
> As always, we hope you've enjoyed it! Thanks for reading <3


	5. Sometimes I ignore you, so I feel in control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bette attends the same party as Joan to prove her a point.

One week and no sign of Crawfish. Good. Never better. Bette finally had peace to work on her character and decent co-star who only talked to her during their scenes. She could get used to it. Having  _ Joan Crawford  _ hit on her was a nice caress to her ego, of course. But she didn’t need Crawford caressing anything of hers. To hell with Lucille and her ridiculous hands and big shoulders. Bette Davis had the greatest part she could get at that time, and she was the best fucking actress in that picture! Rumors had it that she was going to be nominated to the Academy Awards. Over the years Bette learned how to not feel too guilty over her actions, especially when other stars and egos were involved. But for a moment she was curious if Joanie was hurt. Not only by the Oscar buzz that was only intended to Bette, but mostly if being rejected by her co-star really touched a delicate spot. 

When Bette arrived at the stage where Baby Jane was being shot, she heard laughter from miles away. She knew very well who was making that fuzz. Bette entered the set already very annoyed.

“Bette, daaaarling!” Tallulah Bankhead uttered in that loud theatrical voice of hers. “We were just talking about you!”

Standing next to the Broadway diva was Crawfish, seeming a little ashamed.

“How great.” Bette expressed ironically.

“Things had been so boring in New York, so I’ve decided to shake things off in this town.” She laughed. “What about a bridge game tomorrow? You girls could use a little rest. And by rest, I mean booze.” 

“Oh, I sure could!” Joan replied, her eyes shining with malice. 

“I pass, thank you.” Bette declared. 

“Oh, you little party killer! Just because I was going to lay my charms on you.” 

“Some of your kind have tried, but it does not work.” 

“I’ll have to stick to you then, Joanie darling!” Tallulah planted a sudden kiss in Joan’s cheeks, right in the corner of her mouth. Crawford was caught off guard but smiled in response. 

“But as I was telling you, that gorgeous doctor of mine was going for the impossible task of making me quit the cigarettes. I know they’re killing me darling, but can you imagine me without my only true friends?” Bankhead asked.

Bette sat on her chair, pretending she was reading the script, but paying close attention to Joan and Tallulah’s conversation. She was curious to know the subject involved her in any way.

“Truly impossible, my dear, even absurd of him to ask you that.” Joan spoke in her usual elegant manner but with a pinch of irony. 

“Happily, he said nothing about my other addictions.” 

“Cocaine?” Bette asked, intruding the conversation. 

“That too, but I meant women.” Tallulah winked to Joan. “My, my, Miss Crawford these hands of yours... They’re still working alright, I see.” 

Joan turned her eyes to Bette, to see if she expressed anything towards this subject. Then she looked at Tallulah, provocatively replying. “Oh, I hope so.” 

Bette Davis turned the page of her script loudly and held her breath. 

The diva, taking a good look at the tension between the women, suspected right in that moment, getting excited. “Oh, I always suspected that feud rubbish wasn’t true.” She turned to Davis. “Bette, I never thought that boring face of yours could hide such excitements.”

“Oh, no Tallulah, darling, she is just as boring as you’d might imagine. That one wouldn’t have a woman touch her, not in a million years.” Joan guaranteed. 

“I see. You have tried, then?” Tallulah’s eyes shone, she opened a huge naughty smile.

_ Tried and succeeded _ , Joan thought proudly, remembering Bette all over her bed seeming more overjoyed than she ever did in her pictures. But she wasn’t going to share that delightful fact with Tallulah Bankhead, she didn’t like the idea of Bankhead going after her co-star.

“I tried a couple of times. The woman is square, not worth the effort.” Crawford lied. 

“Will you old hags quit talking about me?” Bette got up and closed her script, making a loud noise.

The duo laughed.

“If you change your mind about the bridge game, Davis, I’ll be happy to welcome you in my house. Which is more of a rented apartment.” She passed Bette and stopped, taking a long look at Davis’ bottom. “Well, well, Miss Bette Davis, you sure still have it.” She let out a loud laugh. “Until tomorrow, Joanie.”

“Can you believe her? Awfully vulgar.” Bette spoke in disgust, waiting for Crawford to reply. Joan seemed to pay no attention, still delighted about Tallulah’s presence. “Are you going to this party?” Bette asked.

Joan looked dismissively at her and rudely answered. “I don’t think it’s any of your business.” 

Crawford decided she wasn’t going to humiliate herself any further. She was always the one reaching for Bette, trying to get from her something other than hate. But since Davis clearly wasn't any interested in being in good terms, Joan was going to be just as dismissive as Bette frequently chose to be. Any positive feelings she thought she might have had for that woman was now buried in a grave of regrets. 

She left Davis standing with her own thoughts. Bette was surprised by Crawford’s sudden coldness, but she knew where it was coming from. After their little incident, Joan had been rather distant.  _ Well, maybe I’m going just to pity this party…  _

They could hear Tallulah screaming from the door.

“Bob, daaaaaaarling!”

**

“Come on, Bette, it’s time for the singing scene.” Called Robert Aldrich. He had just finished a scene with Crawford, who seemed very proud of her efforts. “You can take a break now, Joanie.”

Bette Davis went up to Aldrich unusually nervous, passing Crawford on the way.

“Can’t we delay this scene for another day, Bob? I feel like I could rehearse it to make it better.”

“We already delayed it, don’t you remember? What’s going on?”

“Well, honestly, Bob. I’m not confident with it. It’s looking terrible so far and that’s that!” 

Bob caressed Bette’s arm. “Bette, you’re great! You know you can do it. Come on, let’s pass it without the cameras to make you more comfortable. Sing along with me!”

Joan was standing around the Pepsi Cola machine and caught that moment between them. She couldn’t help but feel left out.  _ Bob is picking favorites now.  _ He was never so personal with her, so eager to make her feel comfortable and confident with her performance.

“I’ve written a letter to daddy…” They started the song, Bob holding her hand showing the right movements. 

Joan grabbed a Pepsi cola bottle and walked towards their direction. 

“Bob, dear, look! I’ve brought you a Pepsi Cola, I’m sure you must be exhausted from all the work.” She uttered politely, avoiding making any eye contact with Miss Davis.

“Thank you, Joanie” He took a sip and left it on the nearest surface.

“Now Bette, from the top. Try to keep one foot in front of the other like a little bailarina.”

“Alright.” Bette let out a stressed sound. “I’ve written a letter to daddy. His address is heaven above…”

Joan went back to her dressing room with anger boiling in her blood. She was so careful to ignore Bette the entire week and now she was getting wonderfully along with Bob, from all people. Injustice seemed to be following her around these days, rejection too. 

**

The next day was Friday. Bette couldn’t wait for the weekend, she needed to get away from all the stress. It was the day of Tallulah’s party, but she wasn’t going, no she wasn’t. 

During the last scene of the day she had to carry Crawford from Blanche’s bed to the hallway. The woman was so goddamn heavy Bette almost gave up for the sake of her back. 

“Damn it, you are heavy Crawford! Don’t lay all your weight on me, will you?” 

“You have to carry Blanche’s almost lifeless body through the room, I can’t help you because I’m supposed to be unconscious!” 

Bette came closer to Joan so she could angrily whisper. “Oh, no, you’re doing it on purpose!” 

“How so?” She stared with her mischievous sparkly eyes.

“I don’t know! But you are playing something on me just to make me pay!” 

“Pay for what? I don’t think we have any debts.” Crawford said, faking cordiality.

“Okay, ladies, let’s do it again! On your marks.” Bob interfered before their argument developed into a fight. 

Bette gathered all the strength she had.  _ I’m not doing it another time.  _ And they finally got the scene.

**

Bette got home and after a long shower, sinked into the couch with a glass of whisky in her hands. She wasn’t going to leave that spot ever again, she thought.  _ God, what a week! _ So much has happened, and she needed some time to recover. Booze would be of great help. 

As she enjoyed the drink a few memories came back to her mind. For heaven’s sake, it was Crawford memories! Bette was remembering that goddamn night. It was good, no way to deny it. Oh, no. Bette was not allowed to think of Crawford in that way. She was a despicable woman, who seemed to only want to make her life hell at work. But the memory of Joan Crawford’s hands all over her body kept invading her thoughts, it felt so hot still. It was nice for once to have no feelings attached to the experience, only physical attraction. Davis felt her face turning bright red. She wanted Crawford again.  _ DAMN IT!  _ Joan ignored her the whole week. Never directly talked to her, didn’t look her in the eye once. Nothing. That was so frustrating. She thought she wanted that. To focus on her work and her work only, but once Joan stopped giving her attention so abruptly, she realized she was getting used to that. To being desired. 

So, Bette decided she would leave the couch, go to that goddamn party and look Crawford right in the eye to prove to her she didn’t need her to make her feel desired and wanted. She might even go home with a fucking stranger. Goddamnit she might even bang Tallulah Bankhead and they hated each other! Bette Davis got up, obstinate. She had a party to attend. 

**

The doorbell of Bankhead’s home rang, and she ran to the door with a bottle of vodka between her fingers.

“DAVIS!” She yelled louder than usual. “I wasn’t expecting you to come, and I’m not usually surprised by anything, darling!”

“I was drinking alone already, why not share the moment with a bunch of strangers and some people I can’t stand.” Bette uttered impatiently, she gave the best version of a smile she could. 

“That’s the spirit, darling. We’re playing bridge, the game already started. You can grab some drinks in the kitchen if you’d like.”

Bette looked around. While a group of people played bridge in the living room, a group of gay men danced near the kitchen. She passed them to get to the drinks. Tallulah had a big kitchen with a huge counter, most of it was already filled with bottles of every alcoholic brand imaginable. Some people were filling their glasses, others were just talking. When she got to the other side of the kitchen, she noticed Joan Crawford was there chatting with a lady. A blonde young lady. They were talking and standing very close to each other. How ridiculous of Crawford to behave just like any Hollywood man, chasing after these naive young things.  _ What a nice way to keep her ego up to date,  _ Bette thought. __

Davis grabbed the nearest bottle without even looking at the label and filled her glass to the fullest. She could also find someone to chat, that wasn’t going to be a problem. 

As she was preparing to leave the kitchen a young homosexual boy grabbed her arm.

“You’re Bette Davis! Oh my god, I watch all of your movies.”

Bette smiled trying to show her appreciation for the fan.

“Thank you.”

“Look you guys, see who’s here. It’s Bette Davis!”

A group of young men gathered around her and praised her, saying how great she was.

“Can I ask you for a favor? Can you please say this quote from my favorite movie?”

  
“Let me guess.... What a dump!” Bette amusingly asserted.

The men cheered and applauded her. The noise called Crawford’s attention. 

“What a dump!” Bette exclaimed one more time. 

Joan couldn’t believe the woman really came.  _ What was she doing here? _

“Oh, is that Bette Davis? You two are working together, right?” The blonde who was speaking to Joan asked nicely.

“Yes, indeed.” The sight of Bette infuriated her, how presumptuous of her to come to the party. No one wanted her there, neither Tallulah nor Joan herself. Yet the woman decided to show her face and was now clearly enjoying herself with a crowd of men gathered around her. Again she was there just to steal the spotlight, but Joan wouldn’t have it. “I will say hi to my friend, darling, if you will excuse me.” She said to the girl. 

Crawford walked gracefully, passing the men and getting close to Bette. “Hello, Bette, dear.” She greeted her giving a soft hug. Davis was taken by surprise by the sudden proximity. 

“Oh, see who is talking to me!” Davis whispered bitterly. 

“Won’t you introduce me to your group of friends?”

“Like you needed to be introduced, Miss Crawford!” One of the boys exclaimed. Joan couldn’t be happier.

“You’re too kind, darling.” 

One of the young men kissed her hand and Joan said hello, briefly chatting with each one of them. “Can I steal Miss Davis away from you for a second, boys?” Joan Crawford requested after giving them what she considered to be a good amount of attention. 

“Sure thing!”

Joan took Bette gently by the arm finding a quieter spot in the kitchen.

“What do you want?” Bette asked.

“What are you doing here? This is not the sort of place you attend.” Joan inquired angrily.

“Who are you to tell me where I can or cannot go?”

“Well, I was simply wondering. It just seemed like you came here to get on my nerves with your unwanted presence.”

“That’s not the reason why I came. You’re not that important, Lucille.” 

“You said yesterday you weren’t coming, what changed your mind?”

Damn that woman was noisy.

“I changed my mind, goddamnit! I needed some fun after this hell of a week at work with you.”

  
“You hate me so much you come to the exact party I’m attending.” As the words came out of Joan’s mouth she began to make sense of it. Bette  _ was _ there because of her. She wouldn’t admit it, of course. But as she began to understand Davis’ personality she knew the woman wouldn’t leave her house just to ruin someone else’s party. Crawford’s interest was aroused right there.

“I didn’t come for you.” Bette groaned.

Joan let out a laugh. “Why you came then? To see Tallulah? Everyone knows you despise her, and the feeling is mutual.” 

“Make whatever conclusions you want, Crawfish! I have nothing to prove you!” Joan’s eyes were glowing. She caught Bette; she knew Bette was there because of her. Davis noticed the sudden change in Joan’s expression. She felt vulnerable, almost naked under that gaze. “Take that look off your face!” 

Joan laughed loudly. “Why don’t you go party, dear? Don’t let me get in your way.” It was so delicious to see Bette all worked up. How she missed pushing her buttons just to see her like that. 

Bette stood silent, she wanted to leave just to prove something to Crawford. But the truth was that she didn’t want to party. She was there because of Joan and now that the woman was standing right in front of her looking like _that._ God, she was too much. 

Joan got closer to her and caressed Bette’s shoulder pretending she was analyzing the fabric of her black dress.

“It is a nice gown you are wearing, darling. Is that what you wear when you want someone back?”

“Well played, Lucille. I see you’re still at it with your seduction tricks.”

“Bette, Bette. You won’t ever admit you want me, will you, dear? How about you keep your pride intact and just follow me?”

Bette followed her. What else could she do? She needed to relieve all that tension quickly and she hoped Joan would be  _ handy.  _ She was leaded to one of Tallulah’s toilets. “Now tell me dear, is this what you were looking for in this little party?” Crawford asked seductively as she locked the door behind her.

“You know I’m not going to answer that.” Davis answered softly.

Joan moved her body closer to Bette’s, their face less than an inch apart. “You keep that little game you are playing, Bette darling, I like it when it’s hard to get.” Joan touched Bette’s hair, taking it out of the way for her to kiss her neck. 

Bette’s hands touched Joan’s hips. She didn’t know if she wanted to bring her closer, or else, to pull her apart. But Joan took it as an invitation and kissed her on the mouth. A torturous kiss, Bette could swear that her lips were filled with poison. Her back touched the marble wall as Joan’s body was now entirely against hers. What a glorious, even if disturbing, sensation.

“You’d let me take you right here, wouldn’t you?” 

Bette didn’t want to say anything, but she knew what Crawford meant. They couldn’t do it at Tallulah’s home. But she was enjoying it so badly that maybe… 

“Yes.” She answered. 

“Will you let me take good care of you tonight, then?” 

Davis closed her eyes in anticipation. God, that woman wasn’t possibly real. She felt Crawford’s lips on her chest and closed her legs. She needed to take Crawford out of that party and get her to the closest bed she could find. 

“Let’s go to my house. Now.” 

“I thought you would never ask.” Joan said.

**

Riding a car that night was hard. Bette kept looking at Joan every two minutes as if to see if she was really there. Crawford seemed so content, like she was going to any nice place in town, not her nemesis home only to fuck her. Maybe this little fact made her nemesis’ home one of the nicest places in town.  _ Whatever _ , Bette thought. She just wanted the desire to go away, for it to be washed off by Crawford’s talented hands. If the drive home seemed long, they made it worth the wait the moment they closed Davis’ front door. 

Joan kissed her again, violently this time. Bette broke off the kiss. “Wait until we get to my room! And be quiet, please.” 

Joan smiled in lust and whispered. “Lead the way.”

Bette did as she was told. At that moment she would do whatever Crawford asked her to do. When they locked her room Crawford’s mouth was all over her again. 

Joan pushed Bette against the door, turning her around so she could unzip the black dress Bette was wearing. Her hands found great pleasure in touching her back.

“You look so good in this position; I think I’ll have you right here.” Joan passed her fingers through Bette’s hair and spoke in her ear. “Would you like that?” 

“Will you brag about it all night?” Bette asked leaning her back against Joan’s body, her head resting on Joan’s shoulder.

“No, darling. I have got better things to do.”

**

It seemed like a hurricane had passed over Bette’s bedroom. With both co-stars lying in bed side by side, exhausted. Of all the turnouts Joan imagined for this night this one was the best so far. After that last week she thought there was no going back to their little affair, but there she was, on Davis’ bed. And this time Bette was the one chasing after her, who would imagine.

“I think I’m too old for this.” said Bette out of breath.

Joan turned to face her, getting closer.

“Oh, dear. You may be old for a lot of things but not for this.” Crawford began to give Davis little kisses on the shoulder. “Have you noticed that we ended up in another party restroom tonight?”

“Don’t get too emotional, Lucille. What time is it anyway? B.D. is home and I don’t want her to see you in the morning. I can drive you to your palace.”

“It's the least you could do, but darling, let me stay. I hate to sleep alone after a sexual encounter." Crawford asked, seeming honest.

"My house, my rules. My daughter lives with me, for Christ’s sake, if she begins asking questions, I won’t know what to say.”

Joan just stayed there with her head very close to Davis’. 

“Oh, we can make out a few excuses.” Her fingers began to trace Bette’s chest, then moving down to her stomach. “Rehearsing for instance.”

“She would never buy it. She thinks I can’t stand you.” 

“Oh, so you stand me now?”

“Ha! Now come on, Crawford. Quit stalling, we need to get you out of my house before you seduce me again. We don’t want you to miss your 5am beauty routine.”

Before getting up Crawford planted one last kiss in Davis’ mouth. “I will go, dear. But you have to promise me you won’t be rude when we see each other Monday at the set.”

“I’ll be a sweet, gentle thing.” Said Bette ironically. “Now go!”

Joan zipped up her beautiful dress as Bette found herself some pants and a blouse to wear.

They left the house quietly and 20 minutes later Joan was delivered to her plastic palace.

“See you at work, lover.” Joan let out smoothly.

Bette is left alone in her car, thinking how the hell did all of this happen that now Joan Crawford was her  _ “lover” _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, dear friends!  
> We hope you are still enjoying this, comments are very appreciated! The next chapter is going to be two chapters in one. It's going to involve the ending of the Baby Jane set and a little Oscar incident...  
> Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a very bumpy sexual romance.


	6. If I can't get the starring role

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things between Bette and Joan grew tense as their new found complicity is seen as a threat by Jack Warner, leading them to the Oscar incident.

**Sixth Chapter, Part One:** **You're hard to hug, tough to talk to**

“Jesus, you’re making us late!” Bette exclaimed between Crawford’s kisses. “Joan, stop!” She laughed, even if the woman infuriated her, she sure was a good amount of fun.

They arrived early to the set that day and since not enough people were around, they entered Joan’s dressing room to  _ rehearse.  _ They were both too involved in their sexual escapade to actually have time to argue these days, even their scenes were running along smoothly. Aldrich was careful not to mention the change in their behavior in fear it might trigger the return of their cat-fight days.

“Bob can wait a little.” 

“But I can’t! I have to put on my makeup and you have to get ready. I don’t want anyone suspecting anything.”

“The only thing that will go through their heads is that we’re pulling each other’s hair.” 

“Let’s keep it that way.” Bette got up from the bench she was sitting with Crawford. Joan gave her a look that almost resembled a sad animal. “Look Joanie, don’t get too attached, we still have a week to finish this movie.”

“What about after this week?” Crawford asked.

“What about it? You don’t even know if you will like me ‘till then.” 

“I have a feeling I might.” 

“Que sera, sera. Now I better leave.” 

“In case your memory is fading you’re the one who didn’t enjoy me!” She provoked Davis, who was standing near the door. 

“Well, we’re certainly not getting married after this week.” 

“Did I just spoil our chances of tying the knot?” Joan said faking deception. 

“Ha! Thank god we’re not allowed. Five divorces are too much even for us. It wouldn’t last a day.” 

Bette closed the door and walked towards her dressing room, she looked around to see if anyone was noticing her but not a single soul demonstrated to care that she was in Joan Crawford’s dressing room. She never planned for her little… affair with Lucille to last more than one night, but it seemed to be going… Where? She hoped that not very far. Crawford was still Crawford and even if she was sweet on her now, Bette knew she couldn’t trust the woman. On the other hand, their newfound relationship was quite benefiting their work. They became some sort of allies now, ready to get the job done their way. Bob hated it, Jack Warner even more. Women with strong will like them made men afraid. But Bette could not care less about them. She had a partner just as obstinate and strong as her. Those were the qualities she admired most in Lucille, the woman took life by her own hands and built it from the ground up.

**

Jack Warner, the head of Warner Brothers, went to the set that day to see if the picture was showing any signs of being promising. He sure was taking advantage of the oscar buzz to make publicity.

The first shot of the day was going to be with Joan only. A scene where Blanche would have to climb down the stairs in an act of desperation to save her life. Bette joined the crew to watch Crawford’s performance.  _ When she is good, she is good!  _ Bette thought. She was glad to see Crawford giving so much to a performance. Even her beauty fixation seemed more manageable lately. Davis was almost proud of such an improvement. Joan was respectable in her eyes now. 

Jack Warner was standing next to Bob, whispering to him like a tiger watching his prey.

“Does she really have to look that messy? We’re trying to sell them Joan Crawford, I don’t think the audiences would want to see  _ this _ .” Jack spoke judgingly.

Bette was disgusted by that remark, she was ready to intrude their conversation. Bob sighed loudly when he saw Bette standing behind them ready to confront Jack.

“If you might excuse me, Mr. Warner. But how do you expect Miss Crawford to climb down the stairs using only her hands and still looking like a million bucks? This is a horror picture, not a modeling contest.” 

“Davis! Our little troublemaker is here.” Jack answered dismissing Bette’s comment.

“You should give your stars a better treatment, Mr. Warner. After all, when this movie is a hit, you’ll be thanking us for giving your studio a new triumph.” 

“Why, Miss Davis, I’m putting my money on it!” 

“Bette your scene is next.” Bob spoke, seeming always too tired.

“Alright, Bob. Excuse me, Jack.”

Bette walked away, leaving the men to spill their poison.

“How are you handling the old broads, Bob?” Said Warner, pointing to Bette’s direction. 

“They are kind of teaming up. But to be honest, this last week has been better than the whole process.”

“Are you crazy, Bob?! How did you let this happen? Split them up now! We agreed to use this to sell the movie. You know what, forget it. Let me handle this.”

**

Joan opened the door of her mansion wearing a fancy blue gown, her hair all made up impeccably.

“You are late, my dear.” She said coldly.

“I still have children, you know. B.D. was impossible today.”

“What did that  _ girl _ do?” She let Bette in, closing the door behind them to stand in the hall.

“Oh, don’t you talk about my daughter.”

“Well, dinner is already cold. But we can continue this argument here if you’d like.” Joan announced ironically.

“I’ve had enough arguments for today.” Davis declared.

“Great, let’s settle for dinner, then? Mamacita!” Joan shouted.

They sat in opposite sides of the table. Mamacita began serving dinner.

“Will you bring my guest a double whisky on the rocks?” She winked at Bette.

“My, my, Crawfish. You really are a great hostess.” She observed the dinner table.

“Even on a romantic dinner you won’t stop calling me those ridiculous names.”

“These are my pet names to you.” Bette answered seeming amused.

“Do you always give your lovers pet names? I’m beginning to understand why your marriages never last.”

“My last marriage lasted more than all of yours combined.” 

“That’s because Al died. If he were alive, we would be happily married still.” 

“So, we wouldn’t be here now, huh?” 

“We can’t tell about that.” 

They both laughed thinking about their matrimonial disasters. 

“Another thing we have in common, my dear, we were not born to be the woman of the house.” Crawford said with sparkly eyes, admiring the fact that their ambition was far stronger than the expectations society imposed on them.

“That we weren’t! Thank God!” 

As they ate dinner, Bette began to count how many times Joan had called her lover the last few days. It couldn’t be less than 10.  _ What was all that about a romantic dinner?  _ She couldn’t help but explode. 

“Look, I know we didn’t come to any terms about this  _ thing _ we have going on. But let’s break off the labels. This, whatever we call it… We’re not committed. So, I wish you’d stop calling me lover.”

Joan laughed cynically. Her ego clearly hurt.

“Do you think I mean it when I call you that? Oh dear. I think we’re mature enough not to put our hearts into this.  _ This _ is obviously never meant to leave the bedroom.”

They both got unbalanced, clearly affected by their coldness towards one another.

“Good. I’m glad we are on the same page.” Bette uttered.

“Mamacita! Bring me another drink. Or better, bring the entire bottle.”

“Look Crawford. Do you want me to leave? I don’t want to ruin your night any further.”

“Ooh, no, darling. You’re not ruining anything.”

They drank in silence for a few minutes.  _ God, that was awkward.  _ Bette thought. She decided that tonight  _ she _ was going to make a move, since Crawford seemed clearly upset.

“Since we came to an agreement on where we stand, I think we can continue our night, shall we?” Bette got up and grabbed Joan by the hand, leading her to the living room.

“You’re hurting my hand.” Joan expressed dramatically.

“I certainly wouldn’t want that... Darling.” 

Joan Crawford just stood there, looking at Davis with the most apathetic expression.

Bette wanted to laugh, let’s see how long this lasts.

“Come on, Joanie. You’re no fun when you’re like this. Where’s that glamourous Crawford? The one who puts plastic all over her furniture, huh? You know, I might try this in my home.”

Joan kept a straight face over Bette’s attempt to amuse her.

“Look, I’ll swallow my pride and even kiss you.”

Bette grabbed Joan’s shoulders getting closer to her face. She took a look at her icy blue eyes before planting a kiss on her lips. Joan was still too proud to respond, so Davis tried giving little bites on the woman’s lower lip. Crawford broke of the kiss to whisper in Bette’s ears.

“I see you’re trying really hard to please me. I might have to let you hurt me more often.”

Joan kissed her back this time, guiding her to the couch where they could be more comfortable. Her body over Davis’, giving her deadly stares filled with desire.

Bette stopped her halfway through. “Hey, I’m not letting you lead tonight. You keep quiet, Lucille darling.”

Bette began to undo Joanie’s dress, kissing her body while she did it.

“Hmmm. Do you even know what you are doing?”

“I have watched you enough times.”

**

The lights of Crawford’s house were dimmed down, both Davis and Crawford were half dressed enjoying the after-sex quietness. Bette was sitting on the couch and Joan was comfortably lying with her head near Davis' leg. 

“It’s late now -” Bette began to utter, getting interrupted by Joan.

“Let me guess? You have to go home.”

“And let  _ me _ guess. You want me to stay.”

“Well, I could stand that. You never give me the pleasure of having you sleep over.”

“Alright, Joanie. I’ll stay just to bring you some happiness.”

“Perfect, then. Let’s sleep, tomorrow is going to be a tiresome day.” 

**

The next morning Bette woke up in Joan’s bed two hours earlier than she was supposed to, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back to sleep somehow. She thought she might go home to take a shower and prepare to work. They would shoot at the beach today, It was a challenging scene that involved a lot of emotional preparation.  _ Well, that was it.  _ She got dressed and left the bedroom without waking up Crawford, Mamacita wasn’t around either so she just left.

Bette got home and did everything as she planned in her head. After the shower she sat in her living room to go over the script. The telephone rang interrupting her train of thought.

“Who the hell calls at this hour? Crawford, of course.” She laughed softly and picked up the phone. “Hello.”

“Good morning, Bette, dear! This is Hedda.”

“What do I owe you the pleasure, Hedda?”

“I’ll get straight to the point, dear. I was wondering if you have any comments on Joan Crawford’s remark about you on my column.”

“What? What remark? What did she say?” Bette felt a thrill of panic hit her body. Did Crawford go on telling Hedda anything about their affair? God, Bette would kill her. 

“Oh, haven’t you read it yet? Let me read it to you. Miss Crawford said ‘When Bette Davis arrives in the morning everyone on the set moves out of her way. Nobody wants to see her grumpy face. I tried giving her little tips on how to behave, like being kind and saying hello to our crew members, or on how to look ladylike. But it’s no use. Bette Davis looks old enough to be my mother and she simply lies to herself that she doesn’t care.’”

“No comment.” And she violently put the phone back on the hook. God, that really hurt. Bette never thought something from Crawford could sting that deep, but that level of betrayal did it. She swallowed her feelings down with a glass of brandy and some cigarettes. It was time to work. 

**

Joan waited in the car for any sign of Bette. She read the article and just couldn’t believe that Hedda actually betrayed her in that way. They had an agreement settled years ago. Joan was always an available source, and in exchange, Hedda only printed the things Crawford approved. That was unusual of Hopper so Joan called her, only to find out that Mr. Warner gave Hedda _an offer she couldn't turn down_. "You would do the same in my place, wouldn't you dear?" Hopper asked. The thought of showing up in Bette’s doorstep came to her mind, but she knew Davis wouldn’t want to listen to her excuses. She was also afraid of hearing everything Bette had to say to her face. No, it was better to wait in the studio where Joan knew that she would be more civilized. 

God, what was she thinking when she told Hedda all those horrible things? Deep down she knew. She was full of hate and her pride was hurt. An old and devastating feeling of rejection and abandonment had hit her. Crawford needed to humiliate Bette just as she humiliated her, put a finger where it hurt the most. She did it, but it came out at the wrong time. Joan didn’t mean that anymore, she and Bette were getting along greatly at work, they had each other’s back, making it easier to survive in that poisonous filming process. It felt great to have Davis’ approval and respect as a professional, things changed. And because things changed she knew Bette wouldn’t forgive her.

Joan kept her desperation buried inside as she saw Bette arriving. She prayed for some God to help her, to give her the strength to deal with the breaking point she personally led that relationship to. 

Davis parked the car in her usual spot at the stage. Crawford’s car was already parked next to hers.  _ Great.  _ Would it be a felony if she punched Crawford in the face?

“Bette! Bette!” Joan’s annoying voice called for her as she was getting out of the car. 

“I’m not talking to you. Get away from me before I force this cigarette down your throat.”

“I didn’t mean that, not anymore… You were so dismissive after our first night together, my pride was hurt, so I talked to Hedda...”

“Fuck you, Crawford! God, it was all a mistake from the beginning.” 

“Bette, you’re mad now, let’s talk this out after work…” Joan tried to get closer. She wanted to touch Bette, to show her some affection, hoping that maybe that would disarm her. But she knew the best to do was to keep her distance.

“You mean so you can make it up by fucking me again? No, thank you.” Bette interjected; her voice now more moderate. 

“Darling, I swear I don’t know what happened.” Said Joan, seeming sincerely desperate. “I talked to Hedda after we made up in Tallulah’s party, she told me it wouldn’t be printed...” 

“I don’t give a damn! What hurt were the words you used. I know that deep down that is how you see me, and I don’t want anything to do with someone who thinks so little of me.” 

Joan watched her go and grabbed a flask of vodka from her purse. She would need much more alcohol to get through this day. 

** 

Joan was impossible that day. She got drunk and ended up trying to fix every little flaw she found on her face. It was pure hell. The summer day was just perfect for their scenes, but Crawford didn’t seem to collaborate. 

“Get your act together!” Davis demanded, looking down at Crawford, who was lying down on the sand. Joan watched Bette get away from her, knowing that whatever they had was doomed. And she was the one who took the first step towards the end. 

* * *

**Sixth Chapter, Part Two:** **You know I'd rather walk alone, than play a supporting role**

After they finished the picture Joan called Davis several times and even sent her flowers. She tried hard to make Bette see that she was sorry, but she never got any response. Crawford’s words hurt deep, not only because they had something going on back at that time, but mostly for the lack of complicity. They were working together, the least she could do was to keep it respectable. But Bette now knew that Joan wasn’t capable neither of respect nor empathy. Joan stopped calling once the nominations came out and only Davis’ name was included on the list. The flowers died down, but new ones were never sent with a congratulatory note. 

The Oscar predictions were looking good for Davis, she finally had the last laugh. Or at least she thought. 

**

_ Oscar Night, 1963. _

Bette Davis was at the peak of her career again. _Whatever Happened to Baby Jane_ was a success! In the evening of the 1963 academy awards all she could think of was that she was going to bring home a brother to her two oscars, and for a part well deserved. She sure could use the money  _ that _ would involve, but after the last few years of bad parts in bad pictures all she wanted was to bring home the respect an Oscar could provide.

She arrived at the red carpet with her friend Olivia De Havilland, who came from Paris to be present at the ceremony. To her dissatisfaction, Crawford was already there, giving interviews and glowing in fucking silver. Bette couldn’t even stand looking at her face, so she went out of her way to avoid Crawford.

Besides all the warnings Joan received from close friends on her plans for the night, her will to shine was stronger. There was something inside her that just wouldn’t settle until she stole every possible spotlight. She wanted her face to be engraved in Miss Bette Davis’ mind that night. She wore silver to wash off the humiliation of being rejected. By Bette, her peers and the Academy. Hedda helped her make sure that golden Oscar would be at her hands at the end of the night. It was another Joan Crawford masterpiece.

**

Since Bette was going to present an award, she and Livvie stayed backstage in a little dressing room. Olivia poured her some scotch as she lighted a cigarette. 

“So darling, what was all that silver bitchery. She’s really planning to steal the night away from your hands, huh?” 

“I told you she was desperate for attention, Livvie. Now she’s Miss Academy Awards all of a sudden. Presenting best director of all things.”

“Absolutely ridiculous if I may say. But you are most deserving to be here, let’s not focus our night on Miss Pepsi Cola.”

The door of the dressing room got opened, revealing a small sized man.

“Oh hello, ladies. Aren’t you going to Miss Joan Crawford’s party?”

“What party?” Bette asked.

“She’s throwing a backstage party; you should join us.”

Bette’s mouth hung open.  _ Oh, she really had the nerve. _

“Alright, thank you darling.” Said Olivia de Havilland, quickly closing the door on the man’s face. Before she could turn around Bette was already lashing out.

“Who does that… bitch think she is?” Bette’s temper was long lost. 

“Dear, come o-” Olivia tried to speak, getting interrupted.

“I might just show up at her  _ party  _ just to laugh at the clown’s face. Throwing a backstage party! That’s not even allowed.”

“Well, darling. If you need company to take a good laugh at her face, you have it. But you better tone down your anger just in case.” Olivia took Bette’s arm and they headed to Joan’s “party”.

When they arrived, they realized right away that Crawford owned the place. Silver hair was all Davis could see. Dear god, how she wished to burn that hair. It was ‘hello, dear’ here, and ‘hello, darling’ there.  _ What a fake.  _

“There’s the bar, Livvie. Let’s have it on Crawford’s expense.”

“I’m hoping we will empty out that bar, Bette darling.”

To Olivia’s amusement Bette went right ahead with that proposition and ordered two drinks at once. Bette drank from both glasses so she could stand that circus any further.

Crawford, who was talking to Gregory Peck at the other side of the room, caught eyes on Davis.  _ Wonderful! _ She was ready to be the perfect hostess and shove her beauty down Bette’s throat. Let’s see who feels rejected now. She threw the most exciting party and called up the most high-class stars, she was at the top of her game that night. If she wasn’t going to get that appreciation through an Oscar nomination she would get it through another ways. 

She excused herself from Peck and walked graciously with her head high to the bar. She gave a lightly pat on Olivia de Havilland And Davis’ back.

“Well, hello my dears. I’m so glad you came to my little party” She gave them her best ten hundred dollars smile. Upon noticing Bette had two drinks, one in each hand, she added. “I can see you are enjoying yourselves.” 

“Good evening, Miss Crawford. How long has it been?” Olivia said.

“We better not count, dear, it may reveal our ages.” Both Crawford and De Havilland let out a laugh.

Joan turned to Davis, who was just standing there with her drinks, almost happy she wasn’t part of the conversation.

“Congratulations, Bette darling. I’m truly hoping you win tonight. We made a very special picture, you and I.”

“Sure, thank you.” 

“If you girls might excuse me, I’ll say hello to Miss Patty Duke.”

_ What a clown.  _ Bette thought once again before taking another sip out of her drinks.

**

Crawford left the stage holding the best actress Oscar, she felt like the victory was her own.

Davis knew Crawford was doing all that only to massacre her and goddamnit, mission accomplished. It was all too much. Her pride, her victory, her hopes, all taken away by Crawford. Some day she would pay it back, heavens help her. “Livvie, let’s leave.” 

“Oh, darling, but you deserve a little fun after this mess.” Olivia looked at Bette, she could feel her friend’s pain. 

“I’m not in the mood.” 

“I know it was painful…”

“No, you don’t, Olivia!” Bette breathed out. “Sorry Livvie. I didn’t mean to be rude. I feel like it was taken away from me. I was at the top again.”

“You have never left the top, my dear.” 

Bette was almost crying. God, but she wouldn’t admit defeat, not to Joan nor to anyone else. She got up. “Alright. I do deserve some fun.” 

Olivia smiled and held her hand. “You do, darling. Don’t let her have it. Besides, she doesn’t even look good in that dress.” 

“Oh, no Livvie, she does.” Bette said. 

“She does, but we don’t need to give her the satisfaction of a compliment.” 

“That never!” 

They arrived at the Beverly Hilton a little late by Bette’s choice. She smoked a few cigarettes on the way and was craving for the sweet release of alcohol. Livvie was glad when Robert Aldrich and his wife joined them on their table. So far Bette seemed fine. Crawford wandered around, her silver hair seemed to shine even brighter after her victory. Davis filled her glass with whiskey and held it up. “This is for La Belle Crawford!” And drank it down. “May I never have to look at her face again!” 

All her emotions seemed blurry now. The anger she felt wouldn’t quit, and it seemed like it could explode at any minute if she didn’t let it out somehow. Bette wouldn’t allow herself to cry in a room full of people. She also wanted to scream and break some glass, but none of that seemed appropriate to be done around the Hollywood crowd. She thought about the affair she had with Crawford no more than a year earlier. How she hated this fact. How she hated to remember that they shared a bed. Another glass of whiskey went down her throat. The memory of Joan Crawford’s hands over her body made Bette Davis sick. 

“Olivia, I’m going to the ladies room.” She needed a little quietness to get the intimate images out of her mind. 

“Oh, wait, I will go with you, darling.” 

Bette just marched to the ladies room, not even checking if Olivia was following her, she felt completely detached from her surroundings. When she entered the restroom she reached for the sink wishing she could drawn herself there. Someone else entered the restroom right after her, the one person Bette couldn’t stand at that very moment.  _ Fucking hell. _

She saw Crawford behind her through the mirror.

“Bette, darling! I couldn’t talk to you the whole night.” Joan Crawford smiled to her. Her voice in such an enthusiastic tone. She saw Davis running to the restroom and went right after her, wishing to gracefully congratulate her, just to see how Bette was dealing with her loss.

“And you better not talk right now.” 

“Are you mad? I know it must be so frustrating to lose this award… I have been in your place.” She tried to be sympathetic. 

“Don’t you go there, Crawford. You had your win, now will you leave me alone?”

Bette was feeling sick to her stomach, her head spinning. She just wanted to go home after this hell of a night, it just kept getting worse.

“Oh, darling, I’m not the one to blame, certainly…” 

“Yes, you are! You shouldn’t be anywhere near that Oscar tonight!”

“I only accepted it on Miss Bancroft’s behalf…”

“Oh, rubbish! You accepted it to hurt me!” Bette yelled. She felt a bitter taste in her tongue. Oh God, throwing up was the last thing she needed right now. Joan noticed the nausea in her face. She reached out, touching Bette’s shoulder.

“Bette are you alright?”

“Yes!” Davis exclaimed loudly, trying to move so Crawford would remove her hands from her.

“Why would I want to hurt you? Do you think I resent anything from our little affair?” Joan asked, pretending what they had was close to nothing.  Olivia De Havilland entered the ladies room just in time to hear the last remark. 

Davis looked at her friend wishing she never showed up there, least of all at that specific moment. That affair was something she didn’t want anyone to know, she could barely live with the memory of it. What a mistake! 

“I am sorry to interrupt.” Livvie apologized after a few seconds of astonishment. 

“Oh, you haven’t told her.” Crawford inquired after observing the look on their faces. 

“I rather be poisoned than let anyone know I ever let you near me for anything other than work.”

Olivia walked over to Bette’s side, putting her arms around her friend’s shoulders a Crawford a warning stare.

“If you ladies excuse me.” Bette and Olivia watched her go in silence. 

“I don’t know how to deal with the information that you and Joan Crawford went to heaven together.” De Havilland exclaimed as soon as the woman left.

“More like went to hell.” 

“How did it happen?”

“I don’t think I will ever have the guts to tell you anything about it.”

“Alright.” Olivia looked down. “I think she has feelings for you. I can’t tell if good or bad, but clearly strong” 

“I also thought she had feelings for me, but it turns out that the only person she’s able to care about is herself.” 

To Davis it was a concluded case. To Crawford there was still doubt about her feelings and an Oscar that didn’t belong to her just waiting to remind her of her newest regret.


	7. Come on, baby, let's just get drunk, forget we don't get on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawford and Davis start working in a new movie together, which forces them to face their past.

“No way, I’m not working with her again. After that Oscar hogwash that’s the most absurd thing you could ever ask me.” Bette expressed dramatically, giving Robert Aldrich a deadly stare.

“Come on, Bette. It’s not going to be so bad, think about the money. This is a great opportunity and you get the title character. You can handle Crawford, you did it before.” Bob tried to seem calm.

“Barely! I swore at that Oscar party that I wasn’t going to look her in the face again.”

“Well, you don’t have to. Just do your thing and let her do hers.”

“Look, Bob. I would only consider doing it in one condition. Make me producer.”

Bob weighed down his options. Whatever Happened to Cousin Charlotte was already unfolding into a battlefield. But if the producers were happy, he had to be happy, even if it meant reliving his previous nightmare.

**

“Oh, Bob, I just finished the script, I adored it!” Crawford said, happy that Bob considered her from another part.

“So, you’re in?” Robert inquired, his nervous fingers holding the phone with unnecessary strength.

“It’s going to be a new hit! Of course, I am in.”

“Amazing!” Bob could breathe again. Oh, thank god.

“Bob, I was wondering here. If I am playing cousin Miriam, who is playing the title role, Charlotte?”

“Oh… ahm. I talked to a few actresses…” Aldrich stumbled in his words, getting interrupted by Crawford.

“I think you should ask Gloria Swanson! She would be marvelous in this part.”

“Well, we actually already have the actress. The production company thought it would be a great career move to repeat our latest hit. I talked to Bette earlier today, she’s in.”

“You mean she gets top billing again? No way in hell, Bob.” Joan said, her voice changing drastically, now sounding irritated.

“Oh, Joanie, but the character is great, you just said it.”

“And I still think it is, but I’m not going to be stepped on just so she could shine again. I want top billing. My name before hers.”

Dear god, at that point Bob just wished he didn’t have to ask any of them to be in his picture. Any amount of money that might come in wouldn’t be enough to pay back all the stress that was waiting for him. If these two won’t drive him insane by the end of shooting he might seriously consider retirement.

**

“Hello, Bette.” Joan greeted her in a passive aggressive way, as they met in the studio parking lot.

Bette rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. She could do the movie alright; she was a professional, but she wouldn’t talk to Crawford.

“Don’t. Don’t even start it. I don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t want to look at your phony face more than I am obliged to. So, avoid me.” Davis didn’t have time to pretend niceness this time.

“How sad to see someone so bitter about the past! Specially someone I’ve been so found of.” Crawford said, trying to seem superior when it comes to leaving things behind.

Davis laughed at her face.

“You’ve never been found of me or anyone. Leave me alone and we will be just fine.”

Joan swallowed the anger and politely smiled. She would put on a classy façade to handle Davis today.

“As you wish.” Crawford guaranteed and opened the studio door so Bette could enter.

Table reading was chaotic. It started with Joan spreading Pepsi Cola bottles around the table so the crew wouldn’t be thirsty.

“I won’t need it.” Bette took the bottle away from her, placing it in front of Crawford.

Davis and Crawford kept giving each other “notes” on how to play their characters. The tension was rising up slowly. Aldrich was holding onto his chair, hoping to god it wouldn’t turn into an arena right on the first day.

“I hate the title.” Bette said. “This is not a sequel, for heaven's sake.”

“But the audiences will remember Baby Jane. It will be good for the numbers.” Joan disagreed.

“I don’t care! ‘Whatever happened to cousin Charlotte’ is ridiculous and desperate! Bob you better change it!”

“We’ll think of another title, but let’s call it a day now.”

Davis was relieved, the first day around Crawford was over and done. She kept remembering the other woman holding the Oscar that could be hers, should be hers. The bitterness she held towards this image was indescribable.

“Good. I’m tired. Goodbye!” Bette said, gathering her things and storming off the room.

Joan observed Davis judgingly. “Oh, that one. Always in a bad mood.” She tried to get the crew to laugh with her. Joan said goodbye to each person before leaving the room with Mamacita beside her.

**

Joan’s arrival on location in Louisiana was getting closer and closer. Robert Aldrich and the rest of the cast and crew arrived a week earlier to start filming the opening sequence of Charlotte. Bob was pleased and a little bothered by how much Bette was taking seriously the job as a producer, she wouldn’t let anything slide through. He knew it was going to upset Crawford, especially because he didn’t have the guts to tell her yet that Bette was a producer. He kept delaying it until the time was over. She’s going to find out anyway. He thought.

Joan Crawford landed in Louisiana a few days later. She took a good look at the place and realized she had dressed way too extravagantly and definitely for a different weather. It was hot. She kept making Mamacita use a fan to keep her refreshed. The hotel was not what she was expecting, neither was her room. They only provided her one bedroom, so she had to share it with Mamacita. Everyone was already acquainted so she felt somewhat left out. She kept a stash filled with vodka bottles under her bed. She had been a heavy drinker for a while, but it was getting harder for her to go through a day without feeling the familiar taste of alcohol in her tongue.  
The next morning, she arrived earlier on the set to start with the right foot. She smiled at Bette and kept her distance, observing what she was doing. She seemed busy. Bette did not return the smile.

“Your scene is the first one, Crawf- ford.” Bette told her, almost uttering the word Crawfish. No, they weren’t in those terms anymore. Bette thought, remembering the day Joan asked if she called all her lovers pet names.

“Why are you telling me this, are you in charge?” Joan said jokingly, not believing the nerve Bette had of telling her what to do.

“As a matter of fact, I am the producer in charge.”

“Excuse me? You are what?” It must be a lie, Crawford thought, Bob wouldn’t do that to her.

“Producer, darling. May you please get in your wardrobe? Bob doesn’t want to delay the scenes today. The last days of shooting we’ve been in a strict schedule; we want to keep it that way.”

What a rude woman. How could I ever have gotten... sparked by her? Joan thought bitterly. Bette managed to get on top once again, only now she was dismissing Crawford, acting almost liking like a superior. But she would show Bette she was twice the professional.

**

Joan was great at the first day of shooting. And Davis was deeply satisfied by it. At least she was doing her job and not making hers more difficult. Crawford tried really hard to make everyone turn to her side, as she began to see Davis as competition. But it seemed impossible to break through the atmosphere that was created in the previous days of shooting, when Joan had not arrived yet. That night, she was drinking in her bedroom when she heard cheering sounds. It sounded most definitely like a party.

She went out in her nightgown and saw Bette and Bob chatting in the balcony of Bob’s room. Inside it, the crew were having a loud reunion with drinks and music. He caressed Bette’s arms and whispered something in her ear. Crawford felt like someone punched her in the stomach. She wanted to yell at them, tell them to cut that crap. Why the hell they invited me to make this goddamn movie? To smear this on my face?

“Let’s go to a quieter place.” Invited Bob. Bette laughed.

“Bob, Bob, I won’t go to bed with you.” She said smiling.

“Hmm, who said anything about bed? I was talking about having a calm conversation.”

“Oh, suuure!”

Joan watched the whole interaction, wishing she could hear what they were talking about. But she could already picture everything and Hedda would hear about it. She went back to her room and washed her throat with hard liquor.

**

The next day Bette watched Joan walk into the set alone. Jesus, she wasn’t okay. Bette couldn’t keep her eyes off Crawford, the woman was almost tripping in her feet. She watched Joan reach for her purse to get a flask. Davis immediately got up and approached the other woman, grabbing her arm.

“I can’t believe you’re drunk.” She whispered angrily, trying to not get any attention.

“I am not. Let me go!” Joan tried to pull her arms away from Bette’s hands.

“For fuck’s sake, one can smell the booze in your breath from a mile away.” Bette affirmed angrily.

“This is a lie, you are a liar!” She answered loudly.

“What are you talking about, Crawford? You’re clearly not in your senses.”

“Well, I’m in my senses alright! You are a traitor, what happened to your work code now that you and Bob are sleeping together!”

“What?” She pushed Crawford to her trailer.

“Let me go!” Joan protested again.

“I’m going to sober you up!” She locked the door and helped Joan wash her face in the sink. “Why are you sabotaging yourself like this? Do you want to ruin this picture?”

“You are going to ruin it already with that face of yours.”

“How mature! I should have let you humiliate yourself in front of everybody. That’s what you really deserve.”

Bette laid Joan down in the couch and yelled for someone outside to bring in some coffee.

“You better drink a lot of water to get this out of your system. Where’s your Mama-woman? I can’t be your nanny for much longer.”

“I let her stay at the hotel. She is not only my maid, she’s the only person I have in this place, since you clearly made up everyone’s mind against me.”

“I did nothing of the sort, Crawfish.”

“What about yesterday’s party?”

“It wasn’t a party we were only having a few drinks. We thought you were tired.”

Joan scoffed. “Oh, how very thoughtful.”

Someone knocked on the door, bringing in the coffee.

“Thank you.” Bette uttered and closed the door. She handed Joan the cup. “Look Lucille, stop with the victimization. We’ll let you know when we’re having drinks again.”

“It’s the least you could do.”

“Alright, I got stuff to do. Don’t show up to work like this again.”

Joan was left alone. Feeling miserable for the humiliation she just put herself through. She thought no one would notice that she had a little drink. One glass led to another. And when Crawford realized she went too far that morning. She was embarrassed that Bette from all people went to her rescue. That level of degradation wasn’t going to be repeated. Joan Crawford had a name to live up to.

**

That night the cast and crew got together to have dinner. This time Joan was invited, and she made sure she was the center of attention.

“You know, I used to be a dancer.” She said, trying to fascinate a few people around her.

“Show us some moves, Miss Crawford.”

“Oh, I couldn’t here. Not without a partner.”

“I can be your partner, Miss Crawford! If you give me the honor, of course.” A young men interjected.

Joan offered her hand, her face lighting up in the most joyful manner. Most of the crew members started to applaud them. Bette’s thoughts were torn between thinking Joan was a  
show off and being glad that she seemed fine now. When the song ended Joan gave her watchers a lovely big smile. She turned to walk toward her seat, observing Aldrich and Davis whisper in each other’s ears on the way. Oh, so he prefers her. Luckily, she prefers her too.

“Bob dear, will you dance with me?” Joan asked.

Bette rolled her eyes and pushed Bob to Crawford’s direction. “Go show her your best moves, Bobby.”

Bob Aldrich was shy at first, Joan was certainly a better dancer than he could ever dream of being. Crawford went on to make a move on him as the end of the song approached.

“I can give you a few dancing lessons if you’d like, darling.”

She pulled him closer and placed a kiss on his cheeks.

“Stop it, Joan.” Uttered Aldrich. He knew what she was doing, they’ve been there before. He hesitated but continued. “Bette told me what happened this morning. We are worried  
about you.”

“We? and who exactly is ‘we’?” Crawford asked seeming almost offended.

“Don’t misinterpret her intentions, she wants what’s best for you. Bette’s tough, believe me I know, but she has a heart.”

“I have seen her heart and it’s not nearly as wonderful as you’re suggesting.”

She thought maybe this was the right time to go and talk to Bette about this morning’s incident. For a change, Davis seemed to be in a good mood. The song ended and Bob thanked her awkwardly before they parted off. She was viciously starring Bette, ready to approach her co-star. When Bette saw Crawford coming closer to  
her she jokingly exclaimed. “Want to dance with me too, Crawford?”

“I only wanted to talk, but if you insist, dear.” Joan said, grabbing the opportunity to embarrass Bette a little bit, knowing she wasn’t a dancer.

Joan offered her hand with a delicious grin. People next to them encouraged Bette to go on and dance. She arched her eyebrows questioning Joan’s attitude.

“Come on, Bette!” The cameraman exclaimed laughingly.

Bette smiled ironically to him, accepting the challenge. She wasn’t one to turn down a challenge.

“Don’t you dare coming too close to me.” She whispered as she reached for Crawford’s shoulder, letting the other woman lead.

Joan felt great. A little something for her self-esteem. Naturally she came a little closer, ignoring Bette’s request.

“Are your feet stuck to the ground, dear? Why are you not dancing?” Crawford asked trying to provoke Bette.

Bette immediately regretted accepting this dance. She never thought she would be in Crawford’s arms again and it brought back a lot of feelings she despised. She hated that for a small amount of time Joan didn’t seem that bad, that she could be fun to be around. Damn, the woman is charming. Bette had to admit it. Even if Joan only wanted to play a joke on her. She followed along never missing a step, Crawford was even surprised at Bette’s abilities.

When the song was over Joan spoke gently.

“May I speak to you for a moment, Davis?”

Bette got suspicious, afraid of whatever could come from Joan. But her curiosity that night kept her from saying no.

“Alright, Crawford. What do you need to talk about?”

“Let’s go outside, it is a rather private subject.”

“I see.” Bette did not know if it was a good idea to be alone with the woman. Joan seemed serious this time, but in the past being alone with her usually meant being hit on. Things are different now. Times has passed, she wouldn’t have the guts after what happened at the Oscars. Bette thought.  
They walked in silence to the patio of the hotel where it was quieter. They sat, each in an armchair, facing one another. Bette lighted a cigarette and waited for Joan to speak.

“Bob told me you have been talking about me. Over the little incident I had this morning. You didn’t have to bring it to him, I would like to keep this a private matter.” Joan said seeming somehow embarrassed, even if she didn’t want to be so clear about her feelings. It was so humiliating to be known as a drunk, and even more to see the pity in Bette’s eyes. From all the moments she has had with Bette Davis it seemed like she was the only one who ever showed any weakness, never the other way around. Crawford felt like she was under a microscope all the time and Bette never once tried to be the one watched and judged.

Oh good, she doesn’t want to talk about our… relationship. Bette thought. She could deal with work-talk way better, she always did. “Look, Lucille. I told him because he’s the director, he ought to know what happens in his set.” Bette told Joan. She felt bad for her, but as a producer she had ensure that there were not going to be any problems involving the picture.

“It wasn’t exactly pleasing for me to be exposed like this. I would like very much if you didn’t intrude in my affairs any longer.”

“I was not intruding, I was only trying to help you. You looked like you could use a friend, I thought Bob could maybe offer you a shoulder. I know this industry can eat you alive, Lucille. I can understand the drinking, but when you mix it with work it kills your credibility.” Bette said, trying to advise Crawford and put some sense into her without involving herself into the storm that was Joan Crawford.

“You don’t need to give me a sermon, dear. But you are right, I indeed could use a friend.” Joan affirmed, hoping that maybe Bette would offer her own shoulder instead. Bette might even open up to her and they would chat for hours, until the sun would begin to rise in the sky, and they would know it was time for them to part their ways.

“Why don’t you go to your room and talk to the Mamawoman? You two seem to know each other very well. Didn’t you say she was your friend?” Davis uttered trying to guide her into a safe option.

Joan knew she wasn’t interested in her friendship, but having the woman say it herself still hurt the same. She knew nothing she ever did would make Bette available to her again, if she ever once were.

“Maybe I will. Goodnight Bette. Thank you for inviting me to dinner.” Joan smiled before rising from her chair.

“No problem.” Bette Davis wanted to say something else. But she just watched the woman go.

Crawford seemed lost, but it was no use feeling protective towards her, whatever the woman was facing she probably brought to herself. When the picture started, she imagined another type of living hell and another vile Joan Crawford, one who would take an Oscar out of her hands without guilt. But what she found was a fragilized version of the star, desperate for a saving hand. But she was not Davis’ responsibility; Bette had to remind herself of that, along with all the terrible things Joan did to her.

**

A few days later, Joan arrived at the set an hour earlier so she could talk to Bob about her next scenes. Only Bette and a few crew members were there. Davis greeted her politely, that was almost a rare experience, but the past days were incredibly calm. They were both polite toward each other. Having little discussions once in a while, mostly about Bette’s job as producer. Joan noticed Bette was trying to tell her what to do way too often, and she felt like she had the same rights to have a say on how a scene would go.

“Crawford, before I forget. The guys are having a get together in Bob’s room tonight. You should go if you’d like.”

“Why thank you Bette, of course I will go.” She smiled sincerely.

Joan thought it would be nice to be out of her room tonight. Mamacita always went to sleep too early, leaving her to her self-destructive thoughts and a stash full of alcohol. She didn’t drink during working hours anymore, but she drank herself to sleep, most times skipping dinner. Louisiana was lonesome, it made her miss the ever-busy Hollywood.

**

Bette happily carried a bottle of her favorite scotch to Bob’s room, arriving a little late because she wanted to put on some make up and wash off Charlotte from her face. Bob was very excited to see her arriving, expecting that they would maybe take the party to her bedroom for another night. Bette thought fondly of him, what they had going on wasn’t exactly unexpected, but it was not something she intended to last or to get in the way of their work. They were good friends, so it felt easy to respect each other’s boundaries.  
Crawford was already there. She looked gorgeous and very much overdressed for the occasion. Bette noticed she was talking to a few people, holding a glass and taking small sips. She wasn’t there to worry, but she truly hoped Joan wouldn’t overtake her doses this time.

Crawford observed Davis from afar the entire night, how she playfully spoke with everyone, also noticing her exchanges with Aldrich, they seemed quite involved still. Bette seemed happy and open. Something Joan rarely saw when she had been nearby in the past. She couldn’t help but wonder why Davis couldn’t be like that with her. She wanted to reach out and demand some attention, but she knew it was the alcohol talking, letting the ugly feelings come out. They briefly talked at the minibar, when both of them went there for another drink.

“Here you go.” Bette said handing Joan a glass she had just served.

“Thank you.”

“I hope you are enjoying yourself, Joanie.”

“Probably not as much as you, but I am having lots of fun.”

Bette laughed and Joan smiled taking a sip from her glass.

“See you around, Joanie!”

**

A certain wave of loneliness hit Joan Crawford when she went back to her room after the party. Mamacita was already sleeping and vodka wasn’t filling up her void. She thought she heard Bette Davis’ familiar laughter; maybe she was hallucinating. She couldn’t stop thinking about Bette, all her thoughts were directed to their previous encounters. The gentle conversation they had on the patio, when Davis showed some sympathy for her. She remembered the day she came to the set drunk, and Bette was almost nice, in her rude, senseless way. Maybe she was a friend. Crawford thought about Davis’ exposed body lying in bed beside her. Bette wouldn’t be there if she didn’t enjoy her somehow, if she didn’t at least feel desire for her. The only way she knew how to reach out for Bette was in a sexual way, it was the only time Davis seemed to let her guards down. Oh, and how much she felt like reaching out for Bette now. She almost let her own hands give her pleasure, but she knew it would only bring a little relief before her desires grew wilder. And with Mamacita in the room this thought was definitely out of the picture. Joan noticed her bottle was empty, she felt like leaving the bedroom, but she knew it might lead her to another bedroom. Bette Davis’ bedroom. Without giving another thought, Joan put on a robe over her nightgown and left.

She knocked twice, getting herself together so she would look presentable.

“Who the hell…” Bette uttered looking at the clock that was marking two in the morning. She wondered if Bob went after her after she rejected his moves. She wasn’t in the mood for sex tonight. She opened the door a little dizzy and twice as surprised to find someone else at her door.

“Joan! What are you doing here?” Bette asked confusedly.

Crawford arched her eyebrows and smiled. “Good evening my dear. It’s such a beautiful night out there to be spent alone, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing dear. I was just thinking how wonderful the atmosphere is tonight. How magical it is down here in the south.”

“God, Crawford. Go to sleep. I don’t have time for philosophy right now.”

“Sorry, darling, I am rather sentimental tonight.”

“You are rather drunk.” Bette accused.

“Maybe. I just needed someone to talk, I thought maybe I could talk to you. Will you let me come in?” Joan asked.

Bette gave her an approving signal, Crawford passed her on the door and went on to sit on Bette’s bed. Davis closed the door and faced that image.

“Well, make yourself at home. Don’t let me get in your way.” She remarked poking fun at Crawford. “I won’t offer you a drink because I see you had too many.”

“I haven’t come here for drinks anyway, darling, if that’s what you think of me.”

“I don’t think, Lucille. What did you want to talk about that was so important?”

“Oh, it was not that important. I was thinking of you. Us.” Crawford spoke trying to seem laid-back.

“What about us?” Bette didn’t want to lose her patience because she knew Joan was not in her right mind, but she wasn’t ready to have this sort of conversation.

“Oh, you know what, don’t you, darling?” Joan inquired, while she stared Bette from head to toe, closing her legs at the sight.

“I’ll be patient with you because you’re drunk, Lucille… And as a matter of fact, so am I. Don’t do something you will regret tomorrow.”

“What if the regret is worth it? Come sit beside me. You don’t need to spend the night standing, dear.”

“I plan on spend the night SLEEPING. Crawford, go to your room.”

“Alright dear, let’s just talk. You know, I realized something tonight.”

“You seem to be thinking a lot tonight.” Bette groaned, walking across the room to sit in an armchair that stood close to the bed.

“You never really talked to me. About your feelings I mean. I always waited for Miss Bette Davis to show me some sign of humanity. I know you are strong, Bette. But you must have some feelings under that façade.”

“Unlike you I don’t have a façade. That is me, that is who I am. You should not idealize me like I am some sort of puppet.”

“I was not idealizing. I was just wondering. You saw me in my vulnerable moments, why couldn’t you let me see you in the same light?”

“Oh, god. Stop keeping score! You are not doing yourself any good.” Bette searched for some cigarettes in her pockets, lighting one as she listened to Joan.

“But please Bette, just tell me what you feel about me, so this won’t haunt me anymore.” As it came out from her mouth Crawford knew she must have been at the bottom of her desperation to inquire something like that from Davis.

“You want the truth, here it is. I feel nothing for you, Joan. I tried to trust you once and you blew it. After the Oscars I promised to myself that I would never look you in the face again.”

Joan sighed. She was not expecting a love letter, she knew this bitterness would someday be delivered. But how to react to the sincerity of those words. She felt nothing. Joan thought, she was expecting for at least hate.

“I see you are not good at keeping promises.” Crawford said coldly, almost seeming detached. She began to wonder how she really felt towards Bette. It wasn’t nothing, it wasn’t just hate and it was definitely not love. But she felt like crawling back to Bette every chance she got, searching for approval and hoping for more. Infinitely more than she ever got.

“Maybe I am not. But if we don’t stop right now, you’re going to get us both hurt. We have been able to talk without going for each other’s throats lately, let’s keep it that way.”

“Which way? Hiding things? Pretending we never had anything special?” Joan spoke a little loudly, letting her feelings show intendedly. She wanted Bette to know she was hurt, she wanted her to feel it.

“And we didn’t. Don’t drag me into your personal storm. I am not the one to blame for your problems, you are just doing this because you are miserable and drunk.”

“Oh, I see you were only pretending to be my friend these days, now you show your true face!”

“I was being decent. I felt bad for you!”

“You don’t need to feel bad for me. I don’t need your pity or your friendship! All you ever did was treat me like I was nothing, just like you said. God, I can’t even count how many times you have hurt me, Bette!”

That was it for Davis. She tried her best to be patient up until that moment. But listening to Crawford play the victim woke her spirits.

“Oh, did I hurt you, Joan? Really? May I remind you that not a day after you fucked me you went on to call me an ugly bitch to that goddamn friend of yours Hedda Hopper. And what about the Oscars? It was humiliating to see you walk off the stage with an award that wasn’t even yours just because you wanted to take it from me. What you did was cruel! You put your ego before anything else and you can’t stand yourself any longer. I’m sorry if I ever hurt you, Crawford, but you did way worse, you publicly humiliated me more than once. And you think I should open up to you after that.” Davis was almost out of breath after putting into words all the anger she withheld.

Joan was shocked at Bette’s outburst. She was so concentrated in her feelings she almost forgot she did those things. It sounded worse coming out of Davis’ mouth. It sounded like she was a bad person. She tried to create endless excuses to keep her mind out of the regretful things she did, she believed most of it. It was hard to listen to another version of it. A true version maybe. She hurt Bette.

Bette got up and picked the bottle of whiskey. She angrily poured herself a full glass, leaving the bottle open at the minibar. Joan discreetly got up, taking the opportunity to fix herself a drink as well. They drank in silence standing near the minibar. Crawford was afraid to look the other woman in the eyes. As she was looking down, she broke off the silence.

“I am awfully sorry, Bette…”

“You should be.” Bette really knew she should be sorry, but hearing those words come out from Joan Crawford’s mouth made her deep down surprised, knowing that Crawford rarely apologized for any of her behaviors.

“I did things I shouldn’t have done.”

Bette didn’t say anything, letting Crawford deal with her own self.

“You deserved that Oscar.” Joan finally said it. She was going to set the record straight with Bette. “And I never thought you were ugly. I was attracted to you since the first time I laid my eyes upon you.” She sighed. “I just wanted to take you home that night at that MGM party. Don’t you remember? The night I asked you for a cigarette. You didn’t trust me even then, but I just wanted to know what you were made of.”

“Where are you getting at, Crawford? I will not go to bed with you and that’s a promise I intend to keep.”

“I don’t want you to believe I think less of you because of the things I did. I admire you Bette. I even envy you sometimes. I craved for you tonight, I will admit that. But that’s not why I am here, not anymore. I am lonely. It is funny how you can captivate so many people through your life, but there comes a day when you look around and the photographers are gone, your friends are not available, your kids have a life of their own, and you are too old to do the only thing you are good at.”

“You are not too old, Joan. It’s the industry that says you are too old. We actors get better with time, it’s a shame. And about the people, I still have a few friends of my own, maybe you didn’t captivate them in the right way.”

“It is easy for you to say, Bette, you had a family to back you up. I never had anybody to love and support me. So, yes. If I had to betray a friend just to get where I wanted I would do so.”

“Look where it got you.”

“I don’t want to fight any longer, Bette. I just want some company and understanding.”

“And you came to me for company and understanding? Ha!” The words came spontaneously out of Bette’s mouth.

“You can see I was out of options.” They both chuckled, not looking directly at one another. Crawford looked up and noticed Bette was still wearing her makeup from the party.

“Darling, don’t you take your makeup off to sleep? It is not good for the skin.”

Bette groaned but she really wanted to laugh, not believing the woman really wanted to teach her how to take care of her skin, even after the seriousness of their conversation. Crawford was a lost case.

“Thank you for the tip, Crawfish.” She said with a high pitched voice she only used when she wanted to seem ironic.

“Don’t get me wrong, dear. You looked really beautiful tonight. It made me wish I was your date.”

“Oh, it did, dear?”

“Yes. You are quite a woman.”

“My, my, Crawford. You are inspired tonight. Walt Whitman must have possessed your body.”

“You go on making fun of me, but I wish you took my words seriously. I do not usually throw compliments around.”

“Sure, you only do it when you want to get into somebody’s pants. But thank you, Crawford, for saying I looked beautiful, anyway. I know you have high standards for beauty.”

“I certainly do.” Joan uttered and walked towards the bed. “Would you mind if I lay down a bit? My head is dizzy.” She lay down before she could hear an answer, placing a hand over her head.

“In fact I do mind, but I guess it won’t stand in your way.” Bette said. Noticing the day was beginning to weigh down on her shoulders, her body demanding rest after hours and hours of work and party and this endless conversation. She reached for the other side of the bed to lie down beside Joan.  
They spent a few minutes in silence, immersed in their own thoughts. Crawford turned her head to look at Davis.

“Bette, can I sleep here tonight?” Joan whispered softly.

Bette was in another state of consciousness, almost asleep. Without a response, Joan touched the woman gently in the shoulder.

“Bette?”

“Hmm?” Davis murmured, finding a comfortable position still with her eyes closed. “What?”

“Do you mind if I sleep here?”

“Why?” Bette mumbled opening her eyes, still having a hard time processing what was happening.

“Because I am too tired to go back to my room.”

“Ok.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Joan smiled looking at Davis’ sleepy face. Since her arrival in Louisiana, she grew accustomed of not expecting nice gestures from anyone. But Bette kept surprising her, with a niceness she never thought she was capable of. She also never thought they would share the same bed again, even if it didn’t involve other types of intimacy. Joan couldn’t help herself from wanting to express her happiness. She lifted her head from the pillow and planted a sudden kiss on Bette’s lips. Regretting a second later, afraid Davis would throw her out of the room. Bette didn’t even move.

“Good night, Lucille.” She said.

It was a beautiful night out there, the Louisiana heat boiled up into rainy skies. The sounds of thunder echoed through the hotel walls. Neither Bette nor Joan took notice of the storm, as they both slept peacefully, allowing their lives to intersect for another brief moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! We want to thank you guys so much for reading and commenting throughout the chapters. It's been very exciting for us. We wanted to address that this is not supposed to be a love story and we do not romanticize unhealthy relationships in anyway. We did try to stay true to how our characters think and behave though.  
> The 8th chapter is going to be the closure of it all and it will accompany a little bonus. Thank you again and please leave us a little comment if you liked this chapter.  
> Love u guys.


	8. With your face all made up, living forever in a screen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan Crawford is taken out of Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte. As she approach the end of her life she reminisces the past.

Joan Crawford could still feel last night’s excessive drinking weighing her down the next morning. She had a terrible headache that kept her from opening her eyes and living through that Saturday morning. The curtains were slightly opened, allowing the daylight to enter uninvited. Disturbed by the sun, Joan Crawford turned to face the other side of the bed, moving very close to where Bette was sleeping. The other woman’s hair tickling her nose. 

“My God, Joan, will you stop moving?” Bette groaned.

Joan wasn’t expecting to hear someone else’s voice. She suddenly realized where she was. She opened her eyes to check just in case.

“Bette. What happened?” Crawford was confused, letting her usual confidence slide away.

“Will you keep quiet please?” Bette said, irritated already. It was their day off and she meant to get some rest. 

“Bette, why am I in your bed? Did we…?” 

“Ugh, god no.” Davis answered, finally turning to face Joan, realizing how close they were. “Do you even remember anything you did?”

“Not quite, no. I just recall being in my room, feeling rather lonesome.” Joan batted her eyelashes, her mind seeming to wonder.

“Yeah, and after that you probably got very drunk and came to my room.”

“What for?” Joan asked, still seeming a bit aloof.

“How can I know? I think you were trying to seduce me.” Davis recalled the beginning of their conversation last night.

“I wouldn't do that!”

“How can you be so sure if you don’t remember?” 

“I, oh god… I’ve never been so ashamed in my life.” Joan sat in bed, massaging her temples to easy the headache. 

“You shouldn’t be, you said a couple of nice things.”

“Such as?”

“That I deserved that Oscar you took from me. But don’t you worry, dear, I know it was the booze. You also said you didn’t think I was ugly, like you told Hedda.” Bette finished off her sentence with a pinch of irony. She also sat, looking for a cigarette on the bedside table. She lighted one cigarette and watched Crawford’s confused face.

Joan tried hard to recall the things she said last night, but everything was so blurry and far away. She was afraid Davis was making all that up just to provoke her.

“I certainly had too much to drink.” She finally said.

“I bet you did.”  _ Of course, she didn’t mean any of that crap _ , Davis thought.  _ Saying she was attracted to me since the beginning… Saying that that Oscar should have been mine. Apologizing for the humiliation, Queen Joan wouldn’t be capable of that!  _

“You are incapable of kindness, unless you’re too drunk to remember who you are.” Bette uttered viciously. __

Crawford suddenly felt small. She wanted to run and hide. She held her arms close to her chest. 

“You don’t have to be cruel. I’ll leave you alone, don’t you worry.”

Bette regretted saying these words as soon as they left her mouth. She was harsh, but not usually cruel. “Listen Lucille, I’m sorry…” 

“No, I know that deep down you are not. Yes, I did awful things to you, but we both know I would do it all again if I could turn back time.” Crawford wanted to give it back just as harshly, she wasn’t going to be stepped on.

“I see. Ones like you never change.” 

“And ones like you think they are better than anyone. But really, Bette, you are just a small creature who believes so much in yourself that people actually follow your demands. But if someone look at you closely, they you will see how easy it is to break your walls and get you where they want.” 

“Am I where you want now?” Davis got up and looked down at Crawford, her eyes burning with anger. 

“Yes, in your place.” 

“Great. You have the last word, now go back to your babysitter and never again come for me for anything. I swear to god that if you do, there won’t be a soul able to stop me from killing you.” 

Joan got up from the bed still dizzy, but never looking back to face Bette. She slammed the door behind her, allowing the tears to fall as she walked down the hotel corridors. When she got to her bedroom she hugged Mamacita, urging to prove herself wrong. She wasn’t alone, was she? 

**

_ Two Weeks Later _

Bette marched furiously through the hospital corridors. She went up to the receptionist.

“I’m here to see Joan Crawford.”

“Oh, good morning, miss Davis! It’s Room 407.” The young woman said, astonished by the stars’ presence.

“Thank you.”

She went directly to the room and slammed the door opened. 

“I know what you’re doing Crawford, and you don’t want to go there.”

Joan coughed twice.

“Bette, good morning. It’s good to see a friendly face. Only Bob was kind enough to show up. He brought me these beautiful flowers.” She pointed to a bouquet. 

“Cut the crap, Lucille. I know why you’re doing this. You’re mad. The producers are going to cut you out of the picture if you don’t stop behaving like a child.”

“I can’t help it. I always had a fragile health. The night I won my academy award I was sick in bed with pneumonia. I’m not used to Louisiana’s unendurable weather.” Joan looked around to check if Bette brought anyone else with her, dropping her façade when she realized she didn’t.

“You’re not sick, you’re having a tantrum!” 

“This your fault, my dear. Everyone in this production hates me and you made it impossible for me to work after that night!” She angrily pointed at Bette.

“I don’t know what’s keeping me from killing you! Your irresponsible acts are making us lose a lot of money. Don’t you have any conscience? People’s work depend on it.” Bette promised Bob she wasn’t going to visit Crawford just to yell with her, but who was she kidding. After seeing that hospital circus she couldn’t keep her opinions to herself.

“Don’t you see I am very much sick? What nerve you have to come here only to insult me, to humiliate, just like you did that morning.”

“Oh, Crawford. Stop acting like I’m the only one to blame! You came after me that night, God knows why! But this has nothing to do with work, what you are doing is plain madness.” 

“Why don’t you go back to your work and leave me here to recover.”

“Thankfully to you I don’t have any work to go back to.”

“Oh, pity.” Joan uttered cynically, laying back on her pillow.

“Listen, Crawford. We are looking for another actress to replace you. When we do find her, you better pray to god it won’t be the end of your career. You’re getting sued big time!” 

Bette stormed off, leaving behind Crawford in a room filled with flowers and questionable choices. This time for good.

**

Joan was cut off the picture. Olivia De Havilland arrived from Paris to Louisiana, ready to take the part of Cousin Miriam. Bette was relieved, having her best friend on the set would make the process easier after the traumatizing experience of working with Crawford.

“Oh, thank god you are here.” Bette opened her arms and hugged De Havilland with great joy.

“My, my, darling. What a reception!”

“You wouldn’t believe the hell I went through.” Bette exclaimed.

“Oh, I heard all about it! I can only imagine, working with that one again!” 

“Livvie, she was hideous!”

“What did she do besides what circulated in the press? When it comes to miss Crawford, I’m sure there’s more to it.” 

Bette rolled her eyes and nodded, agreeing with her friend.

“Well, I’m sure you have a lot of things to tell me.” De Havilland affirmed.

As they got to the hotel, Bette was so grateful for finally being able to talk to somebody about what had happened between her and Crawford. These facts hung heavily on her chest.

“She spent the night in your bed, really? What went on in your head to let that happen, dear?”

“I felt sorry for her I guess, and she apologized for a lot of things. She was mad drunk, of course. The next morning she took it all back. Am I a fool, Livvie?”

“I must say so, darling. But who can blame you?” She paused for a few seconds, deciding how to properly ask a question that stayed with her since she found out about Joan and Bette’s affair. “Bette, I’m sorry to ask this, but did you ever love her in any way?”

Davis almost choked from hearing those words.

“What? No! Good grieve, I wouldn’t be capable of that. The woman is nuts.”

“It was all purely physical then?”

“From my side? Yes. I can’t deny that I felt sympathy for her at some point, but she managed to ruin even that. During Baby Jane I tried hard to understand her...”

“Yes, in bed, I bet, dear.”

Bette laughed at her friend’s witty remark. “Yeah, that. Thank you for not judging me.”

“I am your friend, how could I? But I must advise, if you intend to continue this sleeping with ladies thing, please do with someone less complicated. Tallulah Bankhead might be a good option.” 

“Dear lord! Never, although she tried.”

“Ok, but now let’s go back to Cousin Miriam. I’ve been dying to play a bitch for ages!”

“That’s what I wanted to hear! I’m so glad you are here, Livvie!” 

** 

To her displeasure, Joan Crawford received the lawsuit papers not long after she discovered that Olivia De Havilland was taking up her part in  _ Hush... Hush, Sweet Charlotte.  _ Everything was crumbling down and there were rumors about her career being over. She often thought about what Bette said in the hospital room. She should have proved Davis wrong and gone back to work. That scandal was a big fault on her career now, if only they knew dear Bette Davis was the one to blame. How Bette always used her just for fun while she was ready to give her whole heart. What a cruel, senseless woman. Taking everything from her, her dignity, her popularity and even her work. How much she hated her. She prayed that silly picture would become a flop to teach all the ones who dismissed her a lesson.

“They will pay for it, Mamacita.” Expressed Joan, drinking down her vodka to the last drip.

**

Over the years Bette was often asked about Joan Crawford in interviews, which she always tried to reply respectfully, even if she felt the pit of her stomach boil with anger when her name was linked to hers. She avoided any type of contact with Crawford, refusing to go to the same parties she knew Joan was attending. But to the press she wouldn’t be the one to tarnish Lucille’s reputation, her close friends already heard it enough. 

Crawford on the other hand, kept her eyes on Davis, even if distantly. When Bette’s movies were on tv she made sure to watch them. One day  _ Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?  _ was on, she watched it with gusto, admiring their brilliant work together. They sure made a hell of a duo. Sometimes she wished they would meet somewhere by accident, just to find out if Bette would have the guts to talk to her. Their paths never intersected again.

**

In one night the tv was on and Bette’s face appeared in shiny colors. Joan immediately stopped knitting and paid full attention to that unmistakable voice. She always talked in the same strong way, so sure of herself it made Joan almost envy her. Bette had courage to expose herself in any situation, not caring a bit of how she looked. God, life was probably much easier that way. Joan cared about it too damn much. She even stopped going out of the house once she realized she looked too old and not pretty enough for pictures. But god knows how much she wanted to be out there, talking to people, her dear fans, giving interviews, spreading all the knowledge she acquired over the years. The only ones who kept her company were her dog and Mamacita, who only came three times a week. Her kids visited when she allowed them to, when she felt well enough and confident enough to have someone over.

_ “What about Joan Crawford, what do you really think of her? How much of your so-called feud was true?” _

Joan took her dog in her arms, nervously caressing its head as she waited for the answer.

_ “What feud?”  _

The audience laughed.

_ “But really, Joan and I were completely different people. We were built up in different ways. That doesn’t necessarily imply we hate each other. She is a professional with a respectable career. That’s all I have to say about her. _ ”

After hearing that Joan could finally breathe. She realized Bette was respectable afterall.

**

After a few days Bette Davis’ words still echoed in the back of her mind. She couldn’t get that interview out of her head. Joan fantasized a few times about how it’d be to be in front of the cameras again. What questions would they ask?  _ ‘Hello, Miss Crawford? How does it feel like to be a legend?’ _ She would answer humbly that she didn’t feel like one. That she enjoyed the simple things of life. Maybe Bette would join her in the middle of the interview, they would answer a question about what they really felt about each other. Maybe if they were lovers, they would share a look of complicity before saying anything. If they were friends, they would laugh and talk about a long time friendship. 

As she grew more invested in these fantasies, her will to talk to Bette became stronger. What would she say? Perhaps show some gratitude over her kindness. Tell her about her life now, how she enjoyed housekeeping. 

One evening Joan was feeling very much alone. She went over to the phone and dialed Barbara Stanwyck’s number, but there was no response on the other line. She began to mentally list all the people she could call, even her daughter Christina came to mind. Her prideful ways almost kept her from trying to call Bette Davis, but her strong urges were usually stronger than her pride. That’s how she got Bette Davis on her bed so many times.

…

...

“Hello? Bette speaking.”

“Good evening, Bette. It’s Joan Crawford here.”

It took Bette a few seconds to answer. Bette was simply puzzled, she thought she would never hear from the woman again in her life. 

Joan thought she would hang up at any moment.

“Oh, Joan. Good evening to you.”

“How are you, dear? I saw your interview the other night. I wanted to say thank you for being so respectful.”

“The interviewers always ask me about you and I always answer the same thing, I don’t know how they did not give up yet.”

“It was nice just the same. Our rivalry just sparks their imaginations.”

Bette laughed.  _ If only they knew. _

“I heard you’re living in New York.” Bette tried to engage in the conversation.

“Yes, I moved to a smaller apartment. I have a dog now, she’s the cutest thing.”

“I’m glad to hear, Lucille.”

“I thought I would never hear you call me these names again.”

“You mean you’re real name? Lucille LeSueur. French girl, huh?”

“I was born far from France. I’m a texan girl.” 

“Your accent shows.” Bette mocked Crawford.

“No, it doesn’t. My english is perfectly neutral!” Joan seemed almost offended, it made Bette laugh.

“Sure it is, Lucille.” 

“I watched Baby Jane the other night.” 

“What did you think of it?”

“It’s still a great picture. You were brilliant in it.”

“We both were. We did good.” 

“Look Bette, I-”

“I’m sorry Lucille, but I have to go. I have an appointment tonight.”

“I see. Alright, dear Bette. It was wonderful to hear from you.”

Joan never heard from Bette again.

In 1977, Bette Davis heard that Crawford was very ill. She heard that she haven’t left her New York apartment for public appearances for years. Suddenly Joan’s call now made sense somehow. Even after all the hurtful things, Bette still felt sorry for her, she couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to feel forgotten.

A few months later it was all over the papers that the movie world had lost a star. Joan Crawford was dead, just like that. Bette was very practical about death. She wouldn’t shed a tear or grieve over Joan’s passing. She hoped her soul could find some rest after all. Bette wished death would give Joan what life certainly didn’t: peace. She never thought about Joan in another way again. Keeping resentment over a dead person made it harder for them, her mother used to say. So, Bette left all of their turbulent occasions to be buried with Joan. 

“Joan Crawford is dead. Good.” Was all she said about Crawford’s death to the press. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, with this one we are also posting chapter 9, which is a little bonus to close our story.


	9. Bonus Chapter: Whatever Happened to Joan’s Crush on Davis

October, 9. 2015

**Whatever Happened to Joan’s Crush on Davis**

It was admitted by sources close to the late-actress Bette Davis, that the feud between her and Joan Crawford didn’t come only from a place of antagonism. Both actresses shared “steamy nights filled with passion”. But their on-going fights on the set of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane “Made it hard for them to continue what they had going on.” Davis and Crawford may have been completely opposites, but their rivalry was fueled by the interests of the studio company, polarizing the set from the start.

Davis’ personal assistant confided that one of the legendary stars’ first encounters came long before their iconic 1962 picture. During the 1930s, Crawford moved in to seduce Davis in one of the glamourous parties MGM used to hold yearly.

The affair didn’t last longer than a month, but had great intensity. When it eventually ended, Joan Crawford wasn’t pleased, which lead to the events of the 1963 Academy Awards, in which Joan accepted the best actress award on behalf of Anne Bancroft.

In 1964 their lives intersected once again on the set of Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte, but got interrupted when Crawford alleged she was ill and wouldn’t go back to filming. Davis’ assistant has reasons to believe Crawford forged her illness because her pride got wounded after Davis rejected her once again.

She assured the two actresses never met after that, leaving their legendary feud and their secret affair behind. Joan Crawford died in New York, in 1977 and Bette Davis 12 years later, in 1989. They will always be remembered by their illustrious careers and long lasting feud, now with the addition of a frustrated romance faded to disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the end of our story! We'd love to know what you thought of it.   
> The idea for this fanfiction came after we read this article: https://www.mercurynews.com/2017/09/13/joan-crawfords-crush-on-bette-davis-also-fueled-feud-says-new-book-by-davis-confidante/. Which also inspired this fabricated bonus chapter.   
> Stay safe at home during this world crisis! We advise writing about dead celebrities as a quarantine hobby.  
> Thank you all,  
> Gabriele and Vita

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This is Gabby and Nic, just two girlfriends being random and writing fanfiction about dead actresses. For anyone who actually read this and got to the end, thank you. We are hoping to make this keep going for a few chapters, so comments are very appreciated. xox


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